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NORWEGIAN    AUTHOR 
VISITS  CITY. 


JOHAN  BOJER,  RENOWNED  NOV- 
ELIST, WHO  CAME  TO  CHICAGO 
TO-DAY. 

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THE  FACE  OF  THE  WORLD 


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THE 

FACE  OF  THE  WORLD 

BY 

JOHAN  BOJER 

AUTHOR  OP  "the  GREAT  HUNGER" 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  NORWEGIAN 
BY 

JESSIE  MUIR 


NEW    YORK 
MOFFAT,  YARD  AND  COMPANY 


1919 


CO?YMGHT,    I919,   BY 

MOFFAT,  YARD   &  COMPANY 


THE  FACE  OF  THE  WORLD 


l^'ftfflBtt^ 


^9S^ffmo 


THE 
FACE  OF  THE  WORLD 


It  was  the  day  on  which  the  medical  stu- 
dents had  heard  the  result  of  their  examina- 
tion, and  there  was  a  hum  of  eager  voices  on 
the  steps  of  the  University  and  along  Carl 
Johan  Street  in  Christiania.  Even  those  who 
were  disappointed  felt  a  peculiar  desire  to 
shout  "Hurrah,"  because,  if  for  no  other  rea- 
son, they  could  now  put  away  their  books. 

"It's  no  good  working  hard,  either,  for  you 
get  no  further,"  said  Harold  Mark,  as  he  put 
his  arm  within  that  of  his  friend  Wilse,  and 
the  two  sauntered  up  the  Palace  Hill. 

"Ah,  I  suppose  you  feel  that  you  ought  to 
have  got  something  better  than  a  first  class," 
said  Wilse  as  they  stopped  before  a  bench  and 
sat  down. 

"No,  but  it's  so  funny  to  think  that  we  must 


The  Face  of  the  World 


now  go  about  and  pretend  we  know  all  about 
it.  How  absurd  it  is,  to  be  sure!  I  feel  as  I 
sit  here  that  I  must  be  only  half  awake,  and 
want  to  rub  my  eyes.  But  tell  me  seriously 
— ^have  I  really  been  asleep  until  now?" 
"You  asleep?  Was  that  what  you  said?" 
Harold  Mark  was  fair  and  pale,  but  the 
features  of  his  clean-shaven  face  were  regular 
and  full  of  vivacity,  and  the  laughing  gray 
eyes  had  a  mischievous  expression.  Those 
eyes  had  more  than  once  during  lectures  sent 
little  flashes  up  from  his  paper  with  the  ques- 
tion, "Is  that  all?"  And  once  when  the  pro- 
fessor of  surgery  had  gathered  his  students 
round  the  operating-table,  and  was  swinging 
his  scissors  and  boasting  of  his  own  achieve- 
ments, Harold  electrified  the  others  by  saying: 
"Yes,  but  I  thought  Hippocrates  too  knew 
all  about  that." 

Harold's  mother  was  a  widow,  living  in  a 
little  west-country  town,  where  she  had  started 
a  school.  She  kept  him  well  supplied  with 
pocket-money,  which  he  often  spent  with  a 
bad  conscience ;  for  her  letters,  which  were  aJ- 


The  Face  of  the  World 


ways  gentle  and  kind,  were  so  serious,  and  he 
always  wanted  to  take  the  whole  world  as  a 
joke.  He  worked  by  fits  and  starts,  and  took 
difficulties  like  a  kind  of  boxing;  and  then  he 
would  idle  for  a  time,  quite  certain  that,  even 
then,  the  others  would  not  easily  catch  up  with 
him.  He  dressed  well,  was  a  prize  ski-racer, 
played  the  violin,  and  would,  when  his  allow- 
ance admitted  of  it,  hire  a  horse  and  spend 
half  the  day  riding  about  the  surrounding 
country. 

He  loved  Nature,  and  looked  at  her  with 
the  pleasure  that  others  might  have  in  listen- 
ing to  music.  He  felt  in  himself  the  undula- 
tion of  the  hills,  drank  in  the  fragrance  of  the 
earth  and  foliage,  and  the  light  from  sky  and 
fjord.  Then,  when  he  came  home,  refreshed 
and  light-hearted,  he  would  lie  back  in  his 
rocking-chair  with  the  feeling  that  it  was  good 
to  be  alive. 

Yet,  always  there  was  something  tapping  at 
the  window  of  his  heart,  and  that  was  the 
thought  of  his  mother.  She  had  had  a  hard 
struggle  to  make  her  school  a  success,  she 


The  Face  of  the  World 


being  such  a  radical,  and  the  little  town  so 
conservative.  Her  letters  often  breathed 
despondency  over  the  very  little  she  managed 
to  do,  and  he  knew  that  she  was  patiently  wait- 
ing for  him  to  come  and  help  her. 

He  was  soon  to  see  her  face  to  face  now, 
for,  in  a  few  days,  he  would  be  sitting  in  her 
little  cottage,  and  perhaps  then  there  would 
be  other  things  besides  his  degree  that  her  eyes 
would  ask  about. 

"You  look  rather  down  in  the  mouth,"  said 
Wilse.  "Is  it  true  that  you've  been  offered 
the  post  of  demonstrater  at  the  University?'* 

"Well,  what  if  I  have?"  replied  Harold, 
pushing  his  gray  felt  hat  back  from  his  fore- 
head, and  whistling  up  into  the  yellow  leafage. 

"Oh,  of  course  you  think  such  an  offer's 
nothing  for  one  who's  just  out  of  the  egg." 

"But,  my  dear  fellow,  how  can  I  begin  to 
teach  young  fellows  something  that  I  don't 
know  myself?  Do  you  think  I'm  a  gramo- 
phone that  will  just  stand  and  give  out  what 
other  people  have  howled  into  me?'* 


The  Face  of  the  World 


"What  about  the  rest  of  us  then?  Besides 
you  must  get  to  work  at  something!" 

"Of  course  I  must  try  to  get  away  and  really 
learn  something." 

"To  Germany?" 

"Perhaps,  or  up  in  the  country,  if  possible 
to  some  out-of-the-way  place." 

Wilse  started.  "You  in  some  out-of-the-way 
place!" 

"Why,  do  you  think  it  does  one  any  harm 
to  be  by  one's  self  for  a  time?" 

"But  to  learn  medicine?" 

"Well,  everything  has  to  be  looked  at  in 
connection  with  something  greater.  Did  it  nev- 
er strike  you  as  humorous  that  we  insist  upon 
doctoring  people,  but  if  the  poor  devils  ask 
whether  it's  worth  their  while  to  get  well  again 
— ^why,  then  we're  at  a  loss  for  an  answer?" 

"How  confoundedly  serious  you  are  today!" 

"Perhaps  I  am,"  half  admitted  Harold  with 
a  little  embarrassed  laugh,  as  he  rose  and 
pulled  his  hat  forward. 

"Well,  well,"  he  continued,  "we  shall  meet 
at  the  dinner  this  evening.    Don't  forget  to 


The  Face  of  the  World 


bring  your  sister!"  And  with  his  gray  hat  a 
little  on  one  side,  the  sturdy  young  man  hur- 
ried away  up  the  hill  under  the  yellow  trees. 

•  ••••• 

It  caused  a  sensation  when,  later  in  the 
autumn,  Harold  accepted  an  appointment  as 
district-physician  in  the  far  north  of  Finmark. 
His  fellow-students  gazed  at  one  another. 
Could  this  devil-maj'^-care  fellow,  who  was  in 
his  element  on  the  asphalt  and  in  the  ball-room, 
be  going  to  turn  himself  into  an  Eskimo? 
When  they  heard  from  him  later,  it  was  all 
about  journeys  in  a  reindeer-sledge  over  snow- 
fields,  of  nights  in  Finn  tents,  or  in  a  sleeping- 
bag  with  the  snow  burying  him  while  he  slept, 
or  of  a  voyage  in  an  open  boat  and  stormy 
weather  out  into  the  Arctic  Ocean  to  see  a 
Finn-Lapp  fisherman  who  wanted  something 
strong  to  take  before  he  died.  Harold  wrote 
of  it  as  if  it  were  all  fun  and  he  enjoyed  it. 

A  couple  of  years  later  the  newspapers  re- 
ported that  he  had  rallied  the  fishermen  in  a 
conflict  with  the  traders  up  there.    His  friends 


The  Face  of  the  World 


were  puzzled.  Surely  he  was  not  thinking  of 
getting  into  parliament? 

When  he  had  been  in  the  north  five  years, 
the  papers  announced  that  Harold  Mark  had 
gained  a  scholarship  to  enable  him  to  study 
abroad;  and  one  fine  autumn  day  he  was  seen 
in  Carl  Johan  Street  with  a  timid  little  wife 
on  his  arm. 

"But  you  never  said  a  word  about  being 
married!"  said  Wilse,  who  was  now  at  the  State 
Hospital. 

"Come  along  to  the  Mirror  Saloon  and  have 
dinner  with  us,"  replied  Harold,  and  the  other 
consented. 

Harold  Mark  seemed  to  have  grown  bigger 
and  stouter,  and  he  swayed  from  side  to  side 
as  he  walked.  His  fair  beard  made  him  look 
older,  and  his  once  so  alert  eyes  had  acquired 
a  far-seeing  expression  that  reminded  one  of 
auroras  and  snow-fields. 

"Let  us  find  a  good  place!"  he  suggested 
when  they  had  entered  the  dining-room.  "Oh 
dear!"  he  went  on,  "I  see  I've  turned  into  a 
Finn!    I've  brought  my  hat  in  with  me !"    He 


8  The  Face  of  the  World 

threw  it  upon  a  chair  and  rubbed  his  hands  to- 
gether, his  face  glowing  with  delight  at  being 
among  his  own  people  again. 

"Thora!'*  he  said.  "This  is  the  place  where 
the  elite  of  Christiania  exhibit  themselves  when 
the  theatres  are  over,  so  you  must  eat  with  awe 
and  reverence."  He  ordered  an  abundance  of 
wine,  and  when  he  raised  his  glass  of  the  white 
liquid  with  head  thrown  back  to  drink,  he  re- 
sembled a  pleasure-loving  sea-captain  who  had 
at  last  reached  a  gay  town.  "Your  health!'* 
he  said,  "and  to  memories  of  old  times!" 

His  young  wife  was  the  daughter  of  a  light- 
house-keeper he  had  known  in  the  north.  She 
was  a  brunette,  with  small,  regular  features. 
Her  throat  was  long  and  beautiful,  and  when 
her  brown  eyes  found  courage  to  look  at  you, 
she  reminded  you  of  those  young  mothers  that 
Raphael  loved  to  paint. 

"She  imagines  she  possesses  talent  and  can 
learn  to  handle  a  brush,"  said  her  husband, 
stroking  his  beard;  "and  that's  why  she's  drag- 
ging me  to  London  and  Paris,  for  nothing  else 
would  satisfy  her.    It's  a  way  these  sea-birds 


The  Face  of  the  World  9 

out  of  the  polar  night  have.  They've  sat  still 
and  dreamed  so  long  that  there's  no  managing 
them  at  all." 

"You  surely  don't  mean  to  say  that  you're 
going  abroad  for  my  sake?"  she  ventured  to 
ask  anxiously. 

"Don't  worry  yourself,  my  dear!  Wilse 
knows  me.  I  say,  Peter,  there's  something  that 
Ellen  Key  calls  the  art  of  living.  Do  you 
know  anything  about  it?" 

"No.  But  you  constituted  yourself  a  leader 
of  the  people  up  there.  That  was  very  philan- 
thropic of  you." 

"Shut  up  and  don't  say  a  word  about  philan- 
thropy !  There  are  things  that  can  irritate  one 
and  make  you  so  angry  that  at  last  you  can't 
contain  yourself,  but  must  go  for  the  low  cads. 
The  art  of  living!  I've  been  pondering  over 
that  expression.  Here  am  I,  for  instance,  sit- 
ting among  clean  people  and  eating  with  a  sil- 
ver fork  at  a  table  with  a  white  cloth,  and  yet 
— ^well,  I  can't  quite  manage  to  feel  only  joy 
and  gladness  over  it  all,  for  half  my  inner  con- 


10  The  Face  of  the  World 

sciousness  is  with  the  thousands  that  at  this 
moment  haven't  even  salt  for  their  soup." 

"Haven't  you  had  enough  of  your  arctic 
Lapps  yet?" 

"Indeed  yes!  But  when  you're  up  there, 
sharing  both  their  vermin  and  their  rags,  you're 
dreaming  all  the  time  of  this — of  roses  and 
champagne  and  slow,  swaying  waltz  music. 
Your  consciousness  is  in  one  place,  and  you 
yourself  in  quite  another.  And  a  fellow  like 
that,  with  so  little  knowledge  of  himself,  goes 
doctoring  other  folk !  The  art  of  living !  That's 
a  good  expression!  Waiter!  Another  bottle, 
please." 

The  day  following,  Mark's  friends  met  on 
the  quay  to  wish  the  couple  a  pleasant  journey. 
Harold  had  turned  up  the  collar  of  his  gray 
overcoat,  and  kept  his  wife  close  to  him  all  the 
time.  He  seemed  to  fear  she  might  lose  her- 
self altogether  if  she  moved  a  step  from  his 
side.  He  was  going  to  England  to  watch  the 
masters  of  surgery  for  about  a  year,  he  said, 
and  then  to  Paris  to  the  Pasteur  Institute. 
"But  it's  not  certain,"  he  added  with  a  smile, 


The  Face  of  the  World  11 

"that  in  the  long  run  I  shall  be  able  to  carry 
such  an  amount  of  wisdom.  Good-bye  I  Good- 
bye!" 

•  ••••• 

On  a  September  day  in  the  following  year, 
Harold  was  walking  with  his  wife  along  the 
Boulevard  de  Mont-Parnasse.  Once  or  twice, 
raising  his  black  felt  hat,  he  stopped  to  ask  a 
passer-by  the  way  to  the  Cafe  de  Versailles. 

That  year  an  unusually  large  colony  of 
Scandinavians  had  begun  to  gather  in  Paris, 
and  their  rendezvous  was  the  Cafe  de  Ver- 
sailles, where  Scandinavian  newspapers  were 
to  be  found.  In  the  long,  narrow  room  on  the 
right,  that  ended  in  the  biUiard-saloon,  weU- 
known  Scandinavian  artists  might  be  seen  as 
the  evening  advanced,  sitting  at  the  card-tables 
with  their  glasses  beside  them,  or  absorbed  in 
the  home  newspaper,  or  shouting  with  laughter 
at  some  good  story.  The  gas-jets  burned  dim 
in  the  dense  atmosphere;  there  was  a  buzzing 
of  all  kinds  of  languages,  and  the  click  of  bil- 
liard-balls came  continually  from  the  room  be- 
yond.   Now  and  then  a  stranger  would  come 


laf  The  Face  of  the  World 

in  past  the  two  rows  of  tables ;  but  the  look  he 
received  from  every  one  told  him  that  he  was 
an  intruder,  and,  as  a  rule,  he  would  feel  that 
the  best  thing  he  could  do  was  to  go  out  again. 
Harold  Mark  and  his  wife,  however,  were 
soon  quite  at  home  here.  She  was  pretty  and 
unassuming,  and  he  was  lively  and  had  a  thou- 
sand things  to  talk  about.  "Ah,  here  comes 
the  doctor!"  came  from  the  tables  as  he  entered 
the  cafe  whistling,  with  his  black  felt  hat  on 
one  side ;  and  a  few  women  followed  him  with 
their  eyes  in  the  mirrors  on  the  wall  as  he 
passed.  He  would  sit  down  at  a  table,  order 
a  glass  of  black  beer,  and,  blowing  the  foam 
off  it,  would  begin  at  once,  with  merry  eyes 
and  laughter,  some  amusing  story. 

It  occasionally  happened  that  some  one 
would  come  in  with  a  grave  face,  and  ask  at 
haphazard  for  the  doctor. 

"He's  just  gone  into  the  billiard-room." 
"Do  you  think  he'll  come  with  me?    My; 
Jnfe's  been  taken  so  ill." 

"lYou'd  better  go  in  and  ask  him." 
Harold  always  went  when  he  was  wanted, 


The  Face  of  the  World  13 

and  although  it  was  difficult  enough  for  him 
to  manage  on  his  small  scholarship,  especially 
as  it  had  to  do  for  two,  he  could  never  be  in- 
duced to  accept  a  fee.  "Nonsense!"  he  would 
say  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  putting  on  his  hat 
as  he  moved  towards  the  door.  "Hope  you'll 
soon  be  better!  By  the  bj^  have  you  got  such 
a  thing  as  a  match  here  ?"  When  he  had  Hght- 
ed  his  cigarette,  he  looked  back  once  more  with 
a  smile  as  he  shut  the  door,  and  then  ran  down 
the  stairs  humming. 

He  had  been  a  year  in  England,  but  it  was 
Paris  that  really  opened  his  eyes.  He  saw  a 
city  unfold  itself,  not  only  as  a  collection  of 
houses,  parks  and  monuments,  but  as  a  poem 
on  earth.  The  Pasteur  Institute  was  here  too, 
and  in  its  two  heads,  Roux  and  Metschnikoff, 
he  at  last  found  teachers  whom  he  felt  no  de- 
sire to  tease.  In  the  laboratories  there,  it  was 
as  though  the  very  future  of  mankind  were  be- 
ing prepared.  He  was  in  them  each  day :  here 
was  something  for  him  to  do. 

Then  there  were  the  art  galleries.  It  was 
Paris  that  brought  him  really  to  feel  the  deep, 


14  The  Face  of  the  World 

mysterious  emotion  produced  by  the  contem- 
plation of  a  masterpiece.  He  walked  with  his 
wife  through  the  Louvre  with  wide,  observant 
eyes,  intoxicated  by  the  wealth  of  light  and 
color  that  met  him  everywhere.  "Thoral 
Come  here!'*  "No,  Harold  I  You  must  come 
here!"  They  often  kept  together,  and  would 
stand  before  some  picture  in  a  reverence  too 
deep  for  words,  and  would  finally  clasp  hands 
with  a  smile. 

It  was  here  too  that  Harold  experienced  the 
hitherto  unknown  enjoyment  of  getting  into 
a  quiet  corner  and  becoming  absorbed  in  the 
great  world's  press.  He  only  needed  to  turn 
to  the  left  instead  of  the  right  in  the  Cafe  de 
Versailles,  and  he  was  at  once  miles  away  from 
his  countrymen.  "Where's  the  doctor  this  eve- 
ning?'* some  one  would  ask.  "Oh,  he's  buried 
in  his  newspapers  on  the  other  side.'*  "Ah, 
then  it'll  be  no  use  speaking  to  him,"  was  the 
general  remark,  accompanied  by  a  shake  of  the 
head. 

It  was  while  reading  the  world's  newspapers 
here  that  Harold  really  began  to  form  an  idea 


The  Face  of  the  World  15 

of  life  in  the  world.  This  at  last  was  something 
more  than  school  geography.  It  is  rather  irri- 
tating to  be  going  about  on  a  little  planet,  and 
not  even  knowing  what  is  happening  on  it. 
What  do  we  know  about  Rumania?  It  is  a 
word,  a  school  lesson,  but  what  is  Rumania? 
There  is  so  much  floating  in  one's  mind  in  a 
half-hght,  a  half -mist.  There  must  be  an  end 
of  this. 

It  was  a  strange  journey,  swift  as  thought, 
whenever  new  horizons  opened,  and  limitless 
expanses  disclosed  themselves.  This  was  not 
history,  but  only  an  immense  moment,  the  gi- 
gantic Now,  that  swept  into  his  mind  from  all 
sides.  New  York  became  a  hving  thing,  and 
the  next  instant  it  was  Melbourne,  Vienna,  St. 
Petersburg,  Berlin,  London.  The  immensity 
of  this  life  flared  up  within  him  in  great  gleapas 
and  quickened  his  pulses,  filling  him  with  a 
strange  feverishness.  At  first  he  would  sit 
and  let  his  fancy  take  up  all  this  material 
simply  out  of  curiosity,  like  a  globe-trotter 
who  wants  to  see  everything.  Outside  in  the 
street  he  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  city,  the 


16  The  Face  of  the  World 

rumble  of  the  trains  passing  in  and  out  of  the 
Mont-Parnasse  station,  and  of  omnibuses  full 
of  people,  often  running  on  only  one  wheel 
round  the  comer  into  the  Rue  de  Rennes.  And 
in  the  world's  newspapers  there  rose  the  same 
subdued  roar  from  telegrams  and  articles,  but 
this  was  the  long,  heavy  waves  rolling  in  from 
the  immense  ocean  of  humanity.  Then  came 
a  day  when  he  became  more  than  curious. 
Things  here  and  there  in  the  various  countries 
began  to  be  of  great  moment  to  him.  His 
mother's  eyes  seemed  to  rest  on  him  and  ask 
him  what  he  thought  of  it.  A  strike  in  Val- 
paraiso, an  attempted  rising  in  Barcelona,  an 
arrest  in  Moscow,  a  massacre  of  Christians  in 
Mesopotamia,  the  tyranny  of  the  trusts  in 
America — these  were  things  that  carried  him 
away  and  made  his  hands  tremble.  The  world 
became  more  than  cities  and  scenery  and  life 
and  tumult;  it  began  to  reveal  its  spiritual 
features  to  him.  ^Vhat  did  he  think  of  that — 
and  that — and  that?  He  who  at  home  had  nev- 
er been  able  to  attach  himself  to  any  of  those 
moribund  political  parties,  now  took  a  side; 


The  Face  of  the  World  17 

he  sat  here  overwhebned  by  the  inunense  view 
of  the  world,  in  which  nearly  everything  was 
in  the  wrong  place.  There  were  things  that 
grieved  him,  though  they  took  place  at  such  an 
infinite  distance.  There  were  things  that  filled 
him  with  rage,  although  they  happened  in  an- 
other continent.  What  did  he  think  of  that, 
and  that?  And  every  time  he  returned  to  his 
quiet  newspaper  corner,  it  was  as  if  he  were 
preparing  himself,  not  only  for  great  visions 
and  emotions,  but  for  a  combat.  While  he  sat 
there  he  made,  in  distant  lands,  friends  whom 
he  would  never  meet,  and  bitter  enemies  whom 
he  had  never  chanced  upon.  A  minister  in 
Hungary,  a  senator  in  America,  a  general  in 
Germany — ^he  saw  them  ahve !  The  world  not 
only  grew  larger  every  time,  but  it  became  a 
power  that  drew  him  more  and  more  out  to 
itself,  with  his  interests,  his  thoughts,  and  his 
dreams.  He  seemed  to  be  always  growing 
more  wide-awake,  and  the  more  wide-awake  he 
grew,  the  more  things  did  he  meet  with  that 
vexed  and  depressed  him.  He  began  so  to 
enter  into  and  sympathise  with  everything  that 


18  The  Face  of  the  World 

went  on  in  other  countries,  that,  at  last,  it  was 
not  only  his  thoughts  that  darted  hither  and 
thither,  but  it  was  the  very  fibres  of  his  heart 
that  branched  out  all  over  the  world. 

When  he  arose  and  started  for  home,  every- 
thing that  was  close  to  him  had  shrunk,  even 
the  Pasteur  Institute,  even  the  fact  of  his  being 
a  doctor ;  and  when  he  reached  home  and  looked 
at  his  wife,  she  had  grown  indistinct;  he  saw 
her  indeed,  but  saw  many  other  things  at  the 
same  time. 

"Where  have  you  been  today,  my  dear?"  he 
"would  ask. 

"At  the  Louvre,  of  course." 

Thora  Mark  no  longer  clung  nervously  to 
her  husband's  arm.  She  had  of  late  begun  to 
venture  out  by  herself,  and  wandered  about 
the  Louvre  alone  when  he  could  not  go  with 
her.  She  read  about  art,  she  saw  art,  she 
dreamed  about  art.  She  would  return,  after 
hours  spent  in  the  galleries,  not  exhausted,  but 
mentally  refreshed  and  joyful  over  the  great 
and  glorious  events  of  the  day.  Her  timidity 
had  gradually  been  shaken  off.    It  seemed  as 


The  Face  of  the  World  19 

if  she  had  at  last  found,  in  the  galleries,  the 
element  in  which  her  being  could  develop. 
Happiness  gained  courage  to  appear  in  her 
face.  She  no  longer  dropped  her  eyes  when 
any  one  looked  at  her,  but  drew  herself  up 
with  a  look  of  self-confidence.  She  had  grown 
prettier,  and  her  laugh  rang  out  more  readily, 
because  the  world  had  at  last  opened  in  all  its 
splendor  before  her  gaze.  To  the  Louvre, 
still  more  to  the  Louvre!  It  was  as  though 
she  had  thrown  herself  into  this  flood  of  color, 
lines  and  light  that  had  swept  in  from  all  ages 
and  lands.  To  the  Louvre !  Still  more  to  the 
Louvre!  When  she  left  it,  she  felt  as  if  she 
could  fly.  At  a  festive  gathering  in  the  studio 
of  a  Danish  sculptor,  she  astonished  every  one 
by  moving  into  the  middle  of  the  room  with  a 
light  scarf,  and  dancing  with  such  fire,  fantasy 
and  grace,  that  they  all  stood  round  and 
gazed. 

"Where  did  you  learn  that,  Thora?"  asked 
her  husband,  drawing  her  aside  when  she  had 
finished. 

"Learn  it?"  she  queried.     "Didn't  you  see 


20  The  Face  of  the  World 

it  was  Botticelli,  stupid?  Why,  you  might 
have  seen  it  was  his  lines  and  rhythm!" 

After  this  they  were  more  popular  than 
ever.  He  improvised  on  his  viohn,  and  she 
danced  to  it.  Where  had  she  learned  to  dance? 
In  the  Louvre,  she  said.  Then  she  would  take 
her  mandolin,  in  congenial  company,  and  sit 
down  on  the  floor  and  sing  gay  songs  with  so 
solemn  a  face  that  her  hearers  almost  fell  off 
their  chairs  with  laughter.  Yes,  they  were  two 
young  people  whom  every  one  was  glad  to 
meet.  Thora  had  really  intended  to  begin 
work  at  the  art-school,  but  was  prevented  be- 
cause the  boarding-house  became  too  expen- 
sive for  them.  But  it  is  possible  to  live  in 
rooms  too,  and  there  one  may  cook  nice  things 
on  a  spirit  stove.  You  save  on  that,  especially 
when  the  wife  is  wiUing  to  do  everything  her- 
self, even  to  the  washing  of  her  husband's  linen. 

So  the  Marks  rented  a  couple  of  rooms, 
with  a  cupboard  for  a  kitchen,  in  a  httle  square 
high  up  near  Montrouge,  and  these  they  were 
going  to  furnish  themselves. 


The  Face  of  the  World  21 

"Have  you  any  furniture?'*  he  asked  when 
they  stood  in  the  flat  after  taking  it, 

"No.    Have  you?" 

-No." 

"Have  we  any  money?"  the  wife  asked,  look- 
ing at  him  with  a  roguish  smile.  He  mechan- 
ically put  his  finger  into  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

"Money?  For  furniture?  Where  could  I 
have  got  it  from?" 

Then  they  both  burst  out  laughing,  and  sit- 
ting down  on  the  floor  agreed  that  at  any  rate 
they  hved  there  now;  after  which  they  went 
out  and  managed  to  get  together  the  things 
that  were  absolutely  necessary.  In  Paris  you 
can  furnish  a  house  for  a  few  francs.  You  put 
an  old  mattress  against  a  wall  and  throw  a 
shawl  over  it,  and  you  have  a  splendid  sofa, 
which,  moreover,  at  night,  is  a  bed.  A  couple 
of  glasses,  knives  and  a  sauce-pan  cost  a  few 
sous,  and  on  the  wall  they  fastened  with  draw- 
ing-pins two  or  three  photographs,  and  then 
stood  and  admired  the  effect.  "It'll  be  splen- 
did!" he  said,  putting  his  arm  round  her  waist. 
■"Well,  I  never  thought  it  would  be  so  easy 


22  The  Face  of  the  World 

to  start  housekeeping!"  she  said,  bending  back 
her  head  so  that  he  could  kiss  her. 

They  still  managed  to  meet  their  friends, 
here  as  much  as  anj^where,  for  at  any  rate  there 
was  room  to  sit  on  the  floor.  "Come  fed,  but 
not  drunk!"  was  the  invitation.  The  enter- 
tainment consisted  of  songs,  stories,  dancing, 
a  glass  of  tea  with  rum,  and  cigarettes;  and 
this  was  enough  to  make  the  guests  forget  to 
go,  so  that  it  was  not  until  the  small  hours  of 
the  morning  that  they  stumbled  down  the 
stairs. 

Long  after  they  were  gone  and  Thora  was 
in  bed,  Harold  still  stood  at  the  window,  look- 
ing out.  What  was  he  thinking  about,  and 
why  did  he  stand  there? 


II 

The  little  lamp-shade  of  green  cardboard 
had  the  effect  of  confining  the  light  to  the  writ- 
ing-table where  Harold's  fair  head  was  bent 
over  a  book,  while  Thora  sat  in  the  shadow, 
darning  his  socks.  Silence  had  reigned  for  so 
long  that  the  squeaking  of  the  mice  in  the  old 
brick  walls  was  audible,  while  from  without 
came  the  distant,  muffled  roar  of  the  great  city. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?"  said  Har- 
old, raising  his  head  lo  look  at  her,  but  at  first 
not  able  to  see  her  in  the  gloom. 

"I'm  certain  it's  not  medicine  you're  read- 
ing now,  Harold." 

"Is  there  anything  very  funny  in  my  not 
reading  medicine?" 

"You've  no  idea  how  often  your  expression 
changes  when  you're  sitting  like  that  and  tak- 
ing part  in  revolutions  and  cutting  down  en- 
emies and  improving  the  whole  world!  Ha, 
ha,  ha!    I  can't  help  laughing." 

23 


24  The  Face  of  the  World 

He  rose  and  went  to  the  other  side  of  the 
room  to  fill  his  pipe. 

"When  you're  reading  your  own  science," 
Thora  went  on,  "you're  really  so  good-looking. 
You  look  as  if  you  were  standing  upon  a  moun- 
tain, looking  out  over  a  country  that  you're 
going  to  march  into." 

"You  should  write  poetry,  Thora.  You've 
got  imagination." 

"And  you  ought  to  read  less  of  that  rubbish, 
and  then  you  wouldn't  be  in  such  low  spirits." 

"I'm  reading  Alexander  Herzen's  'From 
the  Other  Bank  of  the  River.'  It's  perhaps 
the  mine  that  one  of  these  days  will  blow  up 
the  tyrannical  power  of  the  whole  of  Europe. 
Do  you  call  that  rubbish?'* 

She  sighed  and  looked  at  the  lamp.  They 
so  often  sat  here  now,  just  these  two  alone,  and 
yet  they  seemed  to  have  less  and  less  to  say 
to  one  another.  He  no  longer  asked  her  to  go 
out  with  him,  and  she  had  to  go  to  the  galleries 
alone  now.  They  often  seemed  to  be  looking 
at  one  another  across  an  empty  space  that  grew 
ever  wider  and  wider. 


The  Face  of  the  World  25 

"You  women  are  strange,"  he  said,  when  he 
had  finished  filHng  his  pipe. 

Her  head  came  suddenly  forward  into  the 
lamphght.  "What?  What  did  you  say  about 
us  women?" 

"Well,  you're  contented  with  such  an  aw- 
fully little  bit  of  the  world.  That's  all."  He 
lighted  his  pipe,  and  the  flame  of  the  match 
flickered  over  his  face. 

"And  I  can't  conceive  why  it  should  be 
necessary  for  a  doctor  to  rummage  about  in 
all  that,"  she  said,  beginning  to  darn  again 
with  rapid  stitches. 

"Oh  I  You  can't  conceive  that?  Of  course 
not!  Nowadays  a  doctor  ought  to  bury  him- 
self in  some  special  subject,  such  as  nose  and 
throat,  and  be  blind  to  everything  else  in  the 
world.  Then  you'd  be  satisfied.  But  I  can 
assure  you  I'd  just  as  soon  become  a  hatter. 
I  want  to  know  what's  going  on  around  me.  I 
want  to  take  part  in  what  the  world's  doing, 
or  I  can't  have  any  idea  about  the  people  either. 
Do  you  understand  that,  my  dear?"    He  took 


26  The  Face  of  the  World 

two  or  three  turns  up  and  down  the  room,  and 
his  step  grew  quicker. 

"But  does  nothing  happen  in  the  world  Lut 
what  is  wrong?"  she  asked,  her  needle  still  mov- 
ing rapidly. 

He  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and  stood 
still  looking  at  the  lamp.  For  it  was  true.  He 
himself  felt  as  if  the  more  he  enlarged  his  hori- 
zon, the  darker  did  the  pictures  that  he  saw 
become.  The  bright  scenes  of  his  youth  seemed 
to  be  growing  dim.  They  were  only  shadow- 
feehngs  that  were  now  caUed  forth  in  him — 
indignation,  anger,  desire  to  attack.  He  re- 
membered almost  nothing  of  Finmark  except 
the  thraldom  of  the  fishermen  to  the  traders, 
nothing  of  England  except  the  dreadful  slums 
in  London.  It  came  more  and  more  to  be  the 
newspapers  that  determined  his  state  of  mind, 
and  the  newspapers  were  full  of  cries  for  help 
from  all  over  the  world.  They  beat  in  upon 
him,  took  possession  of  his  thoughts,  and  were 
beginning  to  disturb  his  sleep;  and  if  he  tried 
to  shake  it  all  off  in  a  night  of  revelry,  he  would 


The  Face  of  the  World  27 

stand  by  the  window  afterwards,  as  if  looking 
for  something  he  had  abandoned. 

"It's  not  my  fault,  Thora,  that  most  things 
in  the  world  are  as  they  are,"  he  said  at  last, 
going  back  to  his  seat  at  the  table. 

"But  wiU  they  be  any  better  because  you  mix 
yourself  up  in  them?" 

There  was  a  pause,  and  she  heard  him 
breathing  heavily.  *'No!"  he  said  at  last,  quite 
softly.  "That's  what's  so  dreadful — to  be  so 
powerless." 

An  hour  later  she  rose,  saying,  as  she  clasped 
her  hands  above  her  head  and  stretched  her- 
self, "Well,  I  suppose  you'll  be  sitting  up  late 
again  tonight?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no!  I'm  coming  in  a  few  min- 
utes," he  said,  looking  up  from  his  book  with  a 
smile  as  she  left  the  room. 

They  had  bought  two  iron  bedsteads  cheap, 
and  these  now  stood  in  the  next  room.  When 
he  heard  that  all  was  quiet  in  there,  he  raised 
his  head,  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and 
sat  with  his  gaze  fixed  on  the  window. 

At  last  all  was  still  around  him.    He  could 


28  The  Face  of  the  World 

hear  the  wick  hummg  in  the  lamp.  Outside 
rose  the  distant  murmur  of  the  city  as  before, 
this  city  that  never  slept ;  and  behind  that,  still 
farther  off,  a  different  murmur  as  of  breakers 
rising  and  falling.  What  was  it?  Was  it  only 
the  things  he  was  thinking  about?  There  came 
a  wave.  It  was  the  little  Boer  nation  that  had 
just  risen  against  mighty  England.  Money 
and  blood,  money  and  blood!  Another  wave, 
and  this  time  it  was  the  Armenians  with  mu- 
tilated bodies  and  the  flash  of  the  Turkish  exe- 
cutioners' swords;  Russian  martyrs  in  Siberia; 
half -naked  Itahan  laborers,  living  on  bread 
and  water,  and  unable  to  read — ^wave  upon 
wave,  life  on  the  earth,  rolling  by.  He  began 
to  see  it  all  as  under  moonlight.  He  saw  spir- 
itual leaders  come  forward,  unreal  and  yet 
transfigured,  because  most  of  them  were  dead. 
When  he  shut  his  eyes  he  saw  it  all  still  better, 
so  it  was  nothing  outside,  but  a  part  of  his  own 
mind.  It  was  a  world  that  had  formed  itself 
out  of  what  he  had  read,  world-pictures  drawn 
with  the  newspapers'  ink.  These  pictures  had 
gradually  become  like  living  beings;  they  ha3 


The  Face  of  the  World  29 

made  him  more  and  more  their  slave,  and  must 
be  supplied  with  good  food  several  times  a  day. 
Was  this  to  go  on?  And  if  so,  where  would  it 
end? 

"When  he  slept  he  had  a  cold  feeling  that  they 
were  by  his  bedside,  and  the  moment  he  opened 
his  eyes  they  were  upon  him.  Today  it  was 
the  Spanish  popular  leader  who  was  to  be  shot, 
he  remembered;  and  before  he  had  his  own 
breakfast  he  had  to  go  down  to  the  street  to 
get  a  paper  with  the  foreign  telegrams,  for  the 
monster  in  his  mind  must  be  fed  at  once.  Was 
there  nothing  but  this  in  the  world  then?  Could 
he  not  turn  back?  Thora  was  right,  and  yet — 
no,  he  could  not  tear  himself  away  from  the 
age  in  which  he  lived;  he  must  keep  up  with 
everything,  everything! 

Would  he  become  greater  by  embracing  so 
wide  a  horizon?  Over  his  work,  in  any  case, 
the  day  would  continually  grow  broader;  and 
even  if  he  walked  alone,  the  number  of  his 
companions  would  be  always  increasing.  Even 
if  he  pulled  down  the  blinds  in  his  room,  a 
thousand  eyes  would  still  stare  in.    When  he 


30  The  Face  of  the  World 

opened  his  eyes  he  saw  much;  when  he  shut 

them  he  saw  more. 

Harold  Mark  bent  forward  and  supported 

his  head  upon  his  hands.    From  without  came 

continually  the  murmur  from  the  sleepless  city, 

and  beyond  it,  louder,  more  distant,  the  other, 

the  great  world  which  at  the  same  time  was 

himself. 

•  ••••• 

As  the  warm  May  days  passed,  the  frequent- 
ers of  the  Cafe  de  Versailles  saw  less  and  less 
of  the  doctor  and  his  wife,  and  finally  Thora 
ceased  to  appear  at  all.  If  any  one  went  to 
their  rooms,  Thora  was  always  at  home;  but 
it  was  e\'ident  that  something  was  wrong.  In 
the  first  place  it  was  that  she  had  no  suitable 
summer  dress  in  which  she  thought  she  could 
appear  in  warm  weather,  and  for  the  present 
there  was  no  way  of  getting  a  new  one.  In 
the  second  place  they  were  both  in  a  state  of 
great  suspense,  for,  in  the  course  of  the  next 
few  days,  it  would  be  decided  whether  Harold 
was  to  hold  the  scholarship  for  another  year. 
It  was  not  usual  for  the  same  man  to  receive  it 


The  Face  of  the  World  31 

for  three  years — but  they  had  hopes.  Friends 
had  been  at  work,  and  the  directors  at  the  In- 
stitute had  given  him  a  recommendation  that 
carried  weight;  but  they  both  felt  as  if  it  would 
be  an  actual  catastrophe  should  they  be  forced 
to  leave  Paris  at  the  moment.  Harold  needed 
another  year  if  he  was  really  to  make  anything 
out  of  his  studies ;  and  Thora — ^well,  she  hoped 
that  at  any  rate  next  winter  she  could  begin  at 
the  art-school.  They  might  hear  any  day.  The 
suspense  was  so  great  that  they  could  not  sleep. 
Early  and  late  they  talked  of  all  the  wonderful 
things  that  might  happen  to  them  if  they  could 
only  stay  on  another  year.  They  talked  about 
it  until  they  could  not  bear  to  mention  it  any 
more.  When  the  door-bell  rang  they  both 
started.  It  might  be  a  telegram!  When  the 
postman  came  up  the  stairs,  he  was  fate  per- 
sonified. What  had  he  brought?  They  had 
been  a  little  careless  with  their  money  of  late, 
so  that  for  a  fortnight  they  had  been  obHged  to 
dine  off  stewed  beans  and  water,  with  now  and 
then  a  pig's  trotter  for  a  couple  of  sous,  just 
to  get  a  taste  of  something  salt.     But  what 


32  The  Face  of  the  World 

did  that  matter?  They  would  willingly  live 
like  that  aU  next  winter,  if  only  they  might  be 
here  in  Paris.  Every  day  Thora  dreaded  Har- 
old's coming  home  from  the  Institute,  for  as 
soon  as  the  door  opened  she  saw  the  anxious, 
questioning  look  in  his  eyes:  Has  any  word 
come? 

At  last  one  day  when  she  was  standing  wash- 
ing in  her  little  kitchen,  the  door-bell  rang,  and 
on  opening  the  door  she  found  it  was  a  tele- 
graph-boy. She  tore  the  telegram  open  with- 
out waiting  to  dry  her  hands  properly.  It  was 
from  home.    It  was  the  scholarship! 

A  heat-wave  was  passing  over  Paris  at  this 
time,  and  the  city  was  shrouded  in  a  stifling, 
dust-laden  atmosphere.  Outside  the  little 
cafes  on  JNIont-Parnasse,  their  landlords,  in 
shirt-sleeves,  were  watering  the  heated  asphalt, 
and  perspiring  men  were  sitting  under  the  awn- 
ings with  their  hats  pushed  back,  drinking  iced 
water  through  straws.  The  scent  of  Paris  it- 
self filled  the  air,  the  scent  of  old  houses,  of 
dust,  asphalt,  petrol,  fruit,  vegetables  and 
butchers'   shops,  together  with   a  refreshing 


The  Face  of  the  World  33 

whiff  from  the  numerous  gardens  and  parks 
throughout  the  great  city. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  Thora  was  standing 
in  the  little  sitting-room  before  the  large, 
cracked  mirror  that,  after  the  French  manner, 
was  let  into  the  wall  over  the  fireplace.  She 
smiled  at  her  own  image  in  it.  She  wore  a 
light  musHn  dress  with  purple  flowers,  a  black 
patent  leather  belt  round  her  waist,  brown 
stockings,  and  brown  shoes  with  straps  across 
the  instep,  everything  being  new.  She  had 
just  come  from  the  Bon  Marche,  where  she 
had  only  meant  to  look  at  a  few  materials  for 
quite  an  inexpensive  dress,  and  then — then  she 
had  met  a  friend  from  whom  she  could  quite 
well  borrow,  and  before  she  realised  it  she  was 
entirely  reclothed.  Never  mind!  They  were 
prosperous  now,  and  they  were  going  to  be  in 
Paris  next  year  too,  so  why  should  she  not  en- 
joy herself  a  little?  She  proceeded  to  put  a 
light-colored  straw  hat  over  her  dark  hair, 
the  wide  brim  being  tied  down  over  her  ears  in 
coquettish  imitation  of  the  peasant  women  of 
Brittany.    Putting  her  hands  on  her  hips  she 


34  The  Face  of  the  World 

took  a  step  backwards  and  surveyed  her  youth- 
ful, slim  figure  from  top  to  toe,  and  then  went 
through  a  few  dancing-steps  while  she  tried  at 
the  same  time  to  follow  her  image  in  the  mir- 
ror. What  would  Harold  say  when  he  came. 
"Good  gracious  me!  Is  that  you,  or  is  it  not 
you?"  And  then  he  would  guess  what  had 
happened,  and  would  take  her  in  his  arms  and 
lift  her  off  her  feet,  and  be  simply  wild  with 
delight.    He  must  be  here  very  soon  now. 

This  time  of  painful  suspense  had  brought 
them  together  again.  Each  no  longer  went 
his  and  her  own  way,  but  talked  together  and 
looked  at  one  another  like  two  who  are  mir- 
rored in  one  another's  thoughts.  And  now  it 
would  be  wonderful  to  be  together  when  this 
great  piece  of  good  fortune  made  ever^^thing 
bright  and  beautiful  for  them;  so  today  they 
would  make  merry;  it  should  be  like  a  second 
wedding-day.  On  her  way  home  she  had 
pawned  her  little  gold  watch  so  as  to  be  able 
to  get  a  good  dinner  for  them  both,  and  had 
bought  cutlets,  fruit,  vegetables  and  oysters, 
and  a  bottle  of  sparkling  burgundy,  which, 


The  Face  of  the  World  35 

with  a  little  imagination,  might  be  drunk  as 
champagne.  He  would  soon  be  here,  but  of 
course  she  could  not  sit  down  and  wait;  she 
must  hasten  to  meet  him. 

She  took  her  sunshade,  and,  drawing  on  her 
white  mittens,  ran  down  the  stairs.  Out  in  the 
scorching  heat,  however,  she  almost  gasped  for 
breath,  and  hastened  into  the  shade  of  the  trees 
across  the  square,  stopping  a  moment  at  the 
Avenue  du  Maine  to  let  a  tram  pass,  and  then 
turning  in  between  the  rows  of  low,  begrimed 
houses  that  stretch  westwards  towards  the  Pas- 
teur Institute. 

It  was  a  district  full  of  second-hand  goods 
shops,  old  clothes  shops,  workshops,  smithies, 
and  warehouses  belonging  to  city  merchants. 
Dirty  women  sat  in  the  street,  roasting  chest- 
nuts, and  little  children  with  dark,  curly  hair 
crawled  about  in  the  gutter  and  enjoyed  them- 
selves. The  young  woman  in  the  light  dress 
looked  at  all  this  with  a  strange  smile;  no  one 
heard  that  she  was  singing  to  herself,  but  all 
the  time  a  flood  of  light  filled  her  soul.    Would 


36  The  Face  of  the  World 

he  not  soon  come?  She  looked  eagerly  up  every 
street  she  turned  into. 

At  last! 

His  straw  hat  was  on  one  side,  and  he  car- 
ried a  big  book  under  one  arm,  while  he  swung 
the  other  vigorously,  and  turned  out  his  toes. 
"Will  he  soon  see  me?"  she  said  to  herself,  and 
pretended  to  take  no  notice.  Yes,  he  stopped 
short,  stood  still  and  positively  stared,  while 
she  came  on  towards  him  as  if  she  expected 
anything  rather  than  him. 

"Why,  good  gracious!"  he  said,  just  as  she 
had  thought  he  would,  and  then  there  was  noth- 
ing for  her  to  do  but  stop  and  discover  him. 

"Oh,  is  that  you,  Harold?"  she  said,  looking 
up  innocently. 

"Is  it  me?  Upon  my  word  I  think  it's  even 
more  remarkable  that  that's  you  !'* 

"Why?"  she  asked  innocently.  "Is  it  the 
first  time  I've  come  to  meet  you?  Or  are  you 
disappointed  because  it  isn't  some  one  else?" 

"I  say,  Thora,  have  you  been  committing  a 
robbery?  You  haven't  had  that  dress  on  be- 
fore, have  you?" 


The  Face  of  the  World  37 

She  could  not  keep  it  up  any  longer.  She 
took  his  arm  and  drew  him  along. 

"Can't  you  guess  what  it  means,  you  old 
siUy?" 

"The  telegram?" 

She  nodded. 

He  caught  his  breath  and  stopped  to  wipe 
his  forehead.  A  weight  had  been  suddenly 
lifted  from  his  shoulders,  but  he  had  not  the 
strength  to  stand  erect  at  once. 

"Aren't  you  glad  then?"  she  said,  trying  to 
draw  him  along. 

"Yes — oh  yes!  But  wait  a  moment!  \Yes, 
now — now  I  can  go  on  again." 

They  went  on  arm  in  arm.  He  laughed  as 
he  looked  about  him,  and  seemed  to  rub  his 
eyes  to  make  quite  sure  that  he  was  not  dream- 
ing. "You  were  quite  right  to  make  yourself 
a  little  smart,  Thora.  I  hope  you  took  every 
penny  there  was  to  spend  on  your  finery,  for 
we  can  borrow  from  somebody  or  other  until 
we  get  it  from  home.  How  pretty  you  are, 
dear!  If  we  weren't  in  the  street  I  would  take 
you  in  my  arms  and  kiss  you!" 


38  The  Face  of  the  World 

They  walked  quickly  and  no  longer  noticed 
the  heat.  Somehow  they  felt  their  happiness 
would  only  really  begin  when  they  were  alone 
together.  On  the  third  floor  of  their  house 
Mark  put  the  key  into  its  hole,  and  she  flew  in 
before  him. 

"What  do  you  think  of  this?"  was  the  ques- 
tion in  her  eyes,  and  at  last  he  discovered  on 
the  writing-table  two  large  brass  candlesticks 
in  the  shape  of  Doric  columns.  He  took  them 
up.  They  were  heavy  and  seemed  like  some- 
thing unreal  on  the  simple  table. 

*'I  say,  Thora,  you  must  be  quite  mad. 
^here  did  you  get  hold  of  these?" 

"At  a  bric-a-brac  dealer's  up  the  street.  How 
do  you  like  them?  Fancy,  they  cost  almost 
nothing." 

But  still  he  did  not  take  her  in  his  arms  and 
lift  her  off  her  feet.  He  put  the  candlesticks 
down,  and  sank  back  on  to  the  sofa,  every  now 
and  then  passing  his  handkerchief  across  his 
forehead,  and  still  drawing  deep  breaths.  The 
suspense  had  lasted  such  a  long  time. 

"Well,  I  congratulate  you !"  she  said,  kissing 


The  Face  of  the  World  39 

him  on  the  forehead;  then,  hurrying  into  the 
kitchen,  she  put  on  her  big  overall,  and  set 
about  preparing  their  meal.  There  was  a 
lump  in  her  throat,  but  she  comforted  herself 
with  the  thought  that,  at  the  festive  meal,  she 
would  get  everything  that  she  had  expected. 


Ill 

For  some  time  Harold  sat  gazing  straight 
before  him.  Then  he  turned  his  glance  from 
one  thing  to  another  in  the  little  room,  as  if 
he  could  not  quite  make  out  where  he  was.  He 
rose  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down,  gradually 
working  himself  into  a  state  of  strange  excite- 
ment. What  was  the  matter?  He  had  now 
got  what  he  had  latterly  been  looking  forward 
to  as  the  saving  of  his  whole  future.  The 
great,  joyful  moment  when  the  means  for  yet 
another  year's  stay  in  Paris  dropped,  as  it 
were,  into  his  hand,  was  not  to  be  tomorrow.  It 
was  today;  it  was  now.  He  ought  to  be  radi- 
ant with  happiness,  not  at  some  future  time, 
but  now.  It  made  him  so  irresolute.  If  only 
he  could  have  said:  Next  week  I  If  only  it 
had  been  an  injustice  somewhere  or  other  in 
the  world  that  he  could  have  been  angry  about ; 
but  it  was  happiness!  And  it  was  now!  It 
was  ajs  though  abilities  within  him,  which  had 

40 


The  Face  of  the  World  41 

grown  rusty  from  disuse,  were  called  into  play. 
He  looked  about  for  some  way  of  escape. 

Once  he  had  thought  the  possession  of  this 
woman  would  be  perfect  bliss ;  but  when  once 
she  was  his,  the  matter  was  settled  and  done 
with,  and  if  any  one  said  to  him:  "What  a 
lovely  wife  you  have  I"  it  had  almost  the  effect 
of  a  reproach.  Perhaps  people  thought  he 
ought  to  go  about  from  morning  till  night 
beaming  over  Thora;  but  there  are  other  things 
for  a  man  to  do  in  this  world. 

"So  they  didn't  dare  do  otherwise  than  give 
me  the  scholarship  again  this  year,  in  spite  of 
everything!"  he  thought.  There  was  a  little 
bitter  taste  in  it  when  he  put  it  this  way,  and 
he  inmiediately  felt  more  at  his  ease;  but  a 
little  while  afterwards  he  sat  down,  and  pass- 
ing his  hands  over  his  knees,  looked  miserably 
round  the  room.  "What  has  come  over  me?" 
he  thought.  "Am  I  quite  incapable  of  feeling 
pleasure?    And  what  is  the  reason  of  it?" 

He  bowed  his  head,  and  drew  a  breath  that 
was  like  a  sigh. 

His  mother  had  been  the  invisible  power 


42  The  Face  of  the  World 

which,  gently  and  kindly,  even  from  a  distance, 
had  educated  his  feelings.  Hers  was  a  warm 
nature,  but  her  warmth  had  never  glowed  or 
flamed.  It  was  sympathy  with  those  that  suf- 
fered, and  hatred  of  those  that  made  them 
suffer. 

It  was  the  same,  too,  with  the  intellectual 
guides  that  he  had  been  accustomed  to  fol- 
low in  his  youth.  They  inculcated  hatred  of 
tyrants,  and  compassion  for  the  weak;  these 
were  great,  heavy  shadow-feelings.  Their 
faith  was  in  something  remote  and  unreal, 
which  they  called  the  future.  As  for  the  pres- 
ent, it  was  something  evil.  It  was  everything 
that  required  extermination  or  readjustment. 
And  if,  nevertheless,  one  happened — as  he  had 
himself  done  in  his  student  days — to  break 
away  and  sacrifice  to  the  sun  and  the  woman 
of  today,  amid  all  the  gaiety  there  was  the 
consciousness  of  a  canker  ever  gnawing  at 
one's  heart. 

The  strange  thing  was  that,  out  here  in  the 
great  world,  he  had  found,  without  thinking 
much  about  it,  the  same  spirit  in  the  world's 


The  Face  of  the  World  43 

press.  It  cultivated  misfortunes,  it  fed  man- 
kind with  catastrophes,  and  thus  was  deeply 
rooted  in  the  necessity  both  of  those  that  gave 
and  of  those  that  received,  in  any  case  of  the 
present  type  of  man. 

"And  I  myself,"  thought  Harold,  "am  sit- 
ting here  buried  up  to  my  chin  by  the  same 
forces,  and  not  knowing  whether  I  can  break 
away  from  them  or  not." 

"Tra  la  la  la !"  sang  Thora,  busy  in  her  kitch- 
en. She  would  soon  come  in  with  the  dinner, 
and  her  eyes  would  be  fixed  on  him  in  expecta- 
tion of  a  reflection  of  her  own  joy. 

Harold  rose,  and,  opening  the  French  win- 
dow, went  out  on  to  the  little  iron  balcony  and 
sat  down.  It  was  so  high  up,  and  he  could 
look  out  over  the  interminable  city  with  its  sea 
of  buildings  now  bathed  in  a  purple  twilight. 
Before  him  and  to  the  left  he  saw  the  line  of 
the  Arc  de  Triomphe,  and  over  it  a  yellow- 
flaming  sky.  Farther  to  the  left,  the  long, 
golden  arches  of  the  Pont  Alexandre  spanned 
the  river,  which  faded  away,  like  a  stream  of 
liquid  fire,  far,  far  off  on  the  horizon. 


44  The  Face  of  the  World 

In  the  little  square  below,  some  gipsies  had 
put  up  a  row  of  tents  for  a  menagerie  and  a 
merry-go-round.  The  automatic  orchestra  was 
already  braying  out  its  brazen  tones,  the  lions 
were  roaring  in  their  cages,  and  the  galloping 
horses  and  tossing  boats  were  flying  round,  to 
the  great  delight  of  the  children,  who  were  not 
troubled  by  the  heat,  although  the  air  was  so 
sultry  and  heavy  that  the  entire  city  fairly 
panted  for  breath. 

"Dinner  is  ready.  Your  Highness!"  aa- 
nounced  a  voice  from  within. 

It  was  a  pretty  little  table  that  awaited  him. 
Two  clean  towels  did  duty  as  the  white  table- 
cloth, and  on  them  stood  fruit  and  flowers,  and 
a  big  bottle  with  gold  foil  about  the  cork.  The 
cutlets  had  been  fried  with  potatoes,  and  were 
in  the  frying-pan  on  a  chair  beside  the  table. 
The  credit  of  it  all  was  Thora's,  and  she  took 
him  by  the  hand  and  led  him  to  his  place.  The 
cork  was  drawn,  and  the  two  tumblers  were 
filled  with  the  foaming  liquid;  and  as  she 
touched  his  glass  with  hers,  she  said,  with  a 
radiant  smile  and  cheeks  still  rosy  from  her 


The  Face  of  the  World  45 

culinary  exertions:  "Good  luck  to  you,  dear! 
After  all,  you  have  the  best  of  it!" 

"Your  health,  my  dear!" 

"Aren't  you  almost  wild  with  delight  now? 
In  the  winter — oh  fancy!  the  whole  of  next 
winter!  Good  heavens,  it  almost  seems  wrong 
to  eat!" 

"I  say,  what  shall  we  do  in  the  summer  hol- 
idays? Where  shall  we  go?"  he  asked,  while 
he  went  on  with  his  dinner. 

"I've  been  thinking  about  that,  Harold. 
We'll  go  for  a  walking-tour  somewhere  in  the 
country." 

"Oh,  a  walking-tour !" 

"Yes,  or  we'll  take  a  cottage  in  the  forest 
of  Fontainebleau.  A  little  house  there  costs 
almost  nothing.  And  then  it'll  be  your  turn 
to  do  the  cooking  and  washing,  and  I — I'll 
paint." 

"I  don't  think  we  shall  disagree  about  that," 
he  said  smiling,  as  he  stroked  her  cheek.  But 
the  little  touch  was  sufficient  to  make  her  spring 
on  to  his  knees  and  throw  her  arms  round  his 


46  The  Face  of  the  World 

neck.  "Oh,  you  dear,  darling  old  boy  I  Just 
think!    Paris!    Next  year,  you  and  I!" 

"Yes,  but  you  must  go  on  with  your  dinner, 
you  know!" 

"Oh,  be  quiet!  We  can  eat  when  we're  old 
and  gray.  But  drink!  You're  not  drinking 
anything!" 

"Here's  to  your  health  then!  And  the  din- 
ner is  most  delicious,  dear!" 

She  was  radiant  with  happiness,  and  he — 
he  could  not  share  it  with  her.  The  great 
world,  which  seemed  to  have  withdrawn  into 
the  background  while  he  was  in  suspense  about 
the  scholarship,  now  rolled  forward  again, 
spread  itself  out,  and  took  possession  of  his 
mind.  As  he  sat  there,  feeling  his  young  wife's 
kisses  on  his  cheek,  he  suddenly  remembered 
what  Metschnikoif  had  said  in  his  lecture  that 
day.  "The  unsolved  problems  of  the  world 
weigh  like  a  nightmare  upon  the  human  mind, 
and  it  will  be  the  duty  of  you  young  scientists 
to  shake  it  off." 

"Oh  dear,  you're  thinking  about  something 
else!"  she  said,  giving  his  nose  a  little  pinch. 


The  Face  of  the  World  47 

"Am  I?  Well,  I'm  having  my  dinner,  and 
you  ought  to  be  having  yours  too." 

She  went  back  to  her  seat  somewhat  sulkily, 
though  soon  was  smiling  and  happy  again.  But 
her  husband  was  thinking  of  what  a  fellow- 
student,  a  young  Rumanian,  had  said  while 
they  were  walking  part  of  the  way  home  to- 
gether. "There's  a  still  greater  nightmare  than 
the  unsolved  mysteries,"  he  had  said;  "and  that 
is  all  the  injustice  that  poisons  hfe  in  the  world. 
Are  we  scientists  to  shut  ourselves  up  in  lab- 
oratories and  pretend  that  we  have  no  knowl- 
edge of  it?" 

The  air  had  become  more  sultry,  and  Thora's 
face  was  pale,  and  damp  with  perspiration;  but 
she  did  not  notice  it,  and  chattered  on  in  sheer 
gladness  of  heart,  with  her  whole  soul  in  the 
happiness  of  this  hour  of  which  they  had  both 
dreamed. 

Suddenly  a  peal  of  thunder  broke  just  above 
the  house.  The  room  grew  dark,  and  soon  the 
rain  poured  down  upon  the  roofs  and  tree-tops 
in  such  torrents  that  the  water  splashed  from 
the  balcony  into  the  room.    Harold  rose,  shut 


48  The  Face  of  the  World 

the  window,  and  lighted  a  candle  that  stood 
in  a  bottle. 

"Oh,  you  silly  old  thing!"  cried  Thora. 
"Why,  the  candlesticks  must  make  their  debut 
of  course!"  And  she  brought  fresh  candles, 
and  lighted  them  in  the  Doric  columns. 

"What  shall  we  do  later  this  evening?  I'm 
certainly  not  going  to  sit  at  home  and  darn 
stockings." 

"You  may  come  with  me  and  hear  Anatole 
France  and  Jaures  this  evening." 

"Are  they  going  to  speak?  Yes,  I  should 
like  to." 

"There's  to  be  a  great  protest  meeting  in 
the  Place  de  la  Republique." 

"Protest  meeting?  What  are  they  going  to 
protest  against  now?" 

"Against  the  massacre  of  the  Jews  in  Kiev." 
And  Harold  was  suddenly  all  fire  and  eager- 
ness, and  forgot  to  eat.  "You  must  have  read 
about  the  terrible  murder  of  the  Jews  in  Kiev! 
Every  one  knows  that  it's  the  Government  that 
has  arranged  it  all.    Just  think!    The  Govern- 


The  Face  of  the  World  4d 

ment!  In  our  day!  Yes,  Thora,  you  must 
come  to  the  meeting  with  me  this  evening." 

Thora  had  grown  a  little  cross  again.  "But, 
my  dear  Harold,"  she  said,  "it  won't  make  the 
poor  Jews  rise  from  the  dead  if  we  go  out  and 
protest !" 

"But,  good  Lord,  Thora,  are  all  these  hor- 
rors to  be  allowed  to  go  on  while  we  only  go 
about  and  amuse  ourselves?" 

Harold's  breath  came  quickly,  and  he  rose 
and  walked  up  and  down  the  room.  He  had 
at  last  regained  his  feehng  of  confidence;  he 
could  be  indignant  and  shocked,  and  could  rage 
at  the  injustice.  A  peculiar  sense  of  gratifica- 
tion welled  up  within  him ;  he  had  passed  into 
a  stratum  of  air  in  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
breathe.  And  now  he  became  eloquent  as  he 
described  the  revolution  that  ought  soon  to 
break  out  in  Russia,  and  afterwards  over  the 
rest  of  Europe.  His  eagerness  gave  to  his 
face  a  prophetic  beauty  as  he  talked  of  those 
conditions  that  would  be  hewn  down  and 
cleared  away. 

Thora  sat  with  her  hands  in  her  lap,  looking 


50  The  Face  of  the  World 

straight  before  her;  then  her  eyes  wandered 
round  the  room  as  though  searching  for  some 
means  of  saving  the  evening  for  them.  When 
at  last  Harold  sat  down  and  emptied  his  glass, 
she  said  quietly:  "You  won't  leave  me  this 
evening,  Harold,  will  you?" 

"Leave  you?  Why,  you  can  come  with  me  I 
Didn't  you  hear  me  say  that  you  positively 
must  come  with  me?" 

"Oh,  yes !  And  stand  there  in  the  crowd,  in- 
haling the  smell  of  garlic  from  all  the  bawling 
throats!    I've  been  with  you  once  before." 

"I  say,  Thora,  don't  you  ever  think 
about " 

"Well?  About  what?"  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  him. 

"No,  no ;  it  doesn't  matter." 

"I  don't  think  you  ought  to  be  so  taken  up 
with  those  dirty  Jews  somewhere  in  Russia  as 
quite  to  forget  me.  Don't  you  think  we  have 
the  right  to  spend  a  gay  evening  together,  just 
we  two?" 

Harold  did  not  answer,  but  in  a  few  mo- 
ments he  arose  and  went  out  upon  the  little 


The  Face  of  the  World  51 

balcony.  The  rain  had  ceased,  and  there  was 
a  cool  freshness  in  the  air,  a  scent  of  trees  and 
flowers,  and  of  a  washed  town.  The  water 
stood  in  pools  here  and  there  in  the  square  be- 
low, reflecting  the  lamps  of  the  motor-cars  as 
they  flew  past,  the  asphalt  shone,  and  above  the 
countless  lights  of  the  city  rose  the  already 
clear,  starry  vault  of  heaven. 

Thora  joined  him  there,  and  stood  with  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder.  For  a  moment  they 
stood  thus  close  together,  looking  out  over  the 
illuminated  city,  the  sea  of  red,  yellow  and 
white  lights.  The  noise  of  carriages  and  trams, 
and  of  thousands  of  gay  voices,  was  wafted  up 
to  them,  blending  into  a  muffled  roar  as  of 
breakers.  It  was  the  breathing  of  the  city  in 
the  mild  evening  air. 

"You  won't  leave  me,  Harold,  will  you?  It 
would  be  so  nice  if  only  you  would  stay  at 
home  tonight."  The  whispered  words  were 
like  a  caress,  and  she  had  taken  his  hand  in 
hers. 

After  their  coffee  and  as  they  were  sitting 
smoking  cigarettes,  Thora  arose  and  slipped 


52  The  Face  of  the  World 

out  quietly.  Harold,  left  alone,  was  filled  with 
uneasiness.  It  was  as  though  some  rude  force 
compelled  him  to  sit  still  on  a  chair  and  make 
himself  ridiculous.  He  felt  as  if  he  must  free 
himself.  Just  as  some  men  suffer  through  be- 
ing obliged  to  do  without  tobacco,  so  did  he 
feel  a  purely  physical  need  of  going  to  the 
meeting  this  evening,  of  breathing  in  the  un- 
rest in  the  huge  assembly,  the  air  charged  with 
hatred,  with  discontent,  with  the  desire  for 
revolution,  with  indignation  over  the  injustice 
in  the  world.  Why  did  he  not  go  ?  Why  was 
he  sitting  there?  His  wife  did  not  want  him 
to  go.  Very  well!  One's  wife  had  to  be 
obeyed. 

Thora  came  in  with  a  scarf,  and  had  changed 
into  thin  evening  shoes.  "Now  I'm  going  to 
dance  for  you  a  little,  just  for  you,"  she  said 
as  she  moved  one  or  two  chairs  out  of  the  way. 
Then  she  began  to  dance.  There  was  some- 
thing spasmodic  about  her  movements,  as  if 
she  were  only  thinking  of  carrying  him  away 
with  her  into  her  own  mood.  He  sat  with  a 
smile  on  his  face  and  thought  it  very  touching; 


The  Face  of  the  World  53 

but  at  the  same  time  he  felt  how  ridiculous  it 
was  for  him  to  sit  there  and  look  at  this  in- 
stead of  going  to  the  meeting.  He  could  see 
Jaures  on  the  platform,  hear  his  voice  ring  out, 
and  feel  the  sway  of  the  audience  beneath  the 
speaker's  power. 

At  the  same  time  Harold  noticed  that  Thora 
had  taken  out  her  mandolin,  and  was  sitting 
on  the  floor  at  his  feet,  singing.  There  were 
tears  in  her  voice,  and  he  felt  that  in  her  song 
was  a  cry  to  hold  a  loved  thing  that  she  feared 
shpping  from  her.  He  bent  down  and  stroked 
her  hair,  and  she  put  up  her  mouth  for  a  kiss, 
and  the  kiss  seemed  to  burn  his  Hps. 

But  all  this,  that  was  so  near  to  him,  seemed 
to  be  hovering  all  the  time  in  a  strange  world 
of  mist.  The  things  that  were  far  away  were 
clearer;  but  it  had  not  always  been  so. 

He  heard  her  say:  "Now  I  am  going  to 
bed.    You  come  too  I" 

"Yes,  yes,  I'm  coming." 

He  mechanically  refilled  his  pipe,  gazing  at 
the  candle.  He  could  hear  her  undressing, 
lipgeringly,  softly,  and  it  fired  his  senses;  it 


54  The  Face  of  the  World 

called  to  him,  and  he  half  rose  to  his  feet  to  go 
to  her. 

"Come  now,  Harold!"  She  was  already  in 
bed  and  was  pulling  up  the  clothes. 

Harold  laid  down  his  pipe,  and  rising  from 
his  chair  went  slowly  into  the  bedroom,  think- 
ing, with  some  displeasure,  that  women  were 
unlike  any  other  living  creature.  If  he  al- 
lowed himself  to  be  won  over  in  a  matter  like 
this,  it  would  be  a  little  difficult  to  face  his  own 
reflection  in  the  glass  tomorrow. 

He  sat  down  beside  her.  She  had  brought 
in  one  of  the  candlesticks,  and  the  candle  tlirew 
a  yellow  light  over  the  simple  bed  and  her 
pretty,  young  face,  while  the  slender,  warm 
body  beneath  the  clothes  made  its  appeal  to 
him.  She  was  still  flushed  and  glowing  with 
the  thought  of  what  had  happened  today;  she 
was  fuU  of  the  joyful  present,  and  wanted  him 
to  forget  everything  else. 

He  took  her  hands  in  his  and  pressed  them. 
"Listen,  Thoral"  he  said.  "If  you'll  be  good 
and  let  me  go  to  the  meeting  this  evening,  I'll 


The  Face  of  the  World  55 

go  with  you  to  the  Louvre  tomorrow  in  re- 
turn." 

She  had  just  been  trying  to  draw  him  down 
to  her,  and  now  there  came  a  movement  as  if 
something  within  her  drew  back  and  gazed  at 
him.  She  had  struggled  so  hard  to  keep  this 
evening  for  themselves,  but  now  she  could  do 
no  more  I 

"Very  well  then,  I  suppose  you  must  go," 
she  said,  in  so  matter-of-fact  a  tone  that  he 
did  not  notice  what  it  concealed. 

"Thank  you,  Thora!  That  is  good  of  you!" 
he  said,  kissing  her  lightly  on  the  forehead  and 
hurrying  away. 

The  girl  lay  motionless,  listening  to  his  foot- 
steps as  he  went  down  the  stair.  "And  here 
I  go  washing  and  mending  for  him,  and  giving 
up  everything  for  myself" — she  said  to  herself 
— "while  he — ^he  thinks  first  of  all  about  the 
Jews  in  Kiev!" 

She  could  not  sleep.  She  worked  herself  up 
into  a  rage.  He  had  often  neglected  her,  but 
this  evening  was  treachery!     It  had  killed 


56  The  Face  of  the  World 

something,  and  that  too  she  would  have  to  put 
up  with,  she  supposed. 

Suddenly  she  put  her  feet  out  from  the 
clothes,  sat  up  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and 
gazed  at  the  light  from  the  street.  Then  she 
began  to  dress,  and  she  dressed  herself  in  all 
her  finery.  Once  more  she  stood  in  front  of 
the  mirror  in  the  sitting-room,  and  tried  to 
make  the  candle  show  her  reflection;  and  a 
little  later  she  passed  out  at  the  door  and  down 
the  stair.  She  seemed  to  be  setting  out  on 
something  of  which  she  herself  was  afraid. 

Shortly  after  midnight  a  cab  drew  up  at 
the  gate,  and  Thora  stepped  out;  but  a  hand 
from  within  the  carriage  held  her  back,  while 
its  owner,  their  friend  the  Finnish  sculptor, 
begged  for  a  kiss. 

"Let  me  go!"  she  said. 

"No,  no!    Don't  be  so  unkind!" 

Thora  looked  about  her,  and  even  cast  a 
glance  up  at  their  flat.  It  was  in  darkness; 
and  as  he  continued  to  draw  her  closer,  she 
yielded  and  let  him  take  the  kiss,  and  then, 
after  ringing  the  bell,  she  hurried  in. 


The  Face  of  the  World  57 

Harold  was  still  out,  and  when  she  got  into 
bed  she  began  to  think  over  all  that  had  hap- 
pened since  the  morning.  Ah!  this  day  to 
which  they  had  both  looked  forward  as  to  a 
paradise — that  it  should  end  like  this!  Was 
it  her  fault  that  they  could  not  bear  the  hap- 
piness when  at  last  it  came? 

"O  God!  O  God!"  she  cried  as  she  buried 
her  head  under  the  clothes,  and  burst  into  vio- 
lent sobbing. 


IV 

The  next  day  was  Sunday  and  Harold  and 
Thora  drove  through  the  rain-refreshed  town, 
through  Paris  in  the  fragrance  and  brightness 
of  an  early  June  day.  There  was  a  pecuHar, 
clear  freshness  over  everything;  one  could 
fancy  that  all  the  trees  and  flowers  had  just 
budded.  And  over  all  was  a  sky  so  bright,  so 
blue,  so  quivering  with  sunshine,  that  it  seemed 
to  span  the  earth  like  a  far-off  mingling  of  mu- 
sic and  light. 

It  was  the  Finnish  sculptor  who  had  come 
and  carried  them  off.  He  was  a  gay  dandy, 
and  on  this  occasion  wore  a  cream-colored  sum- 
mer suit.  He  had  a  thousand  francs  a  month 
from  his  father,  a  rich  land-owner  in  Finland. 
The  money  lasted  for  the  first  three  or  four 
days,  and  afterwards  he  had  his  meals  on  credit 
at  a  little  creamery,  and  worked  industriously. 
Today  he  was  in  funds  again  and  of  course  he 
must  have  some  one  with  him  to  celebrate  the 

68 


The  Face  of  the  World  59 

advent  of  summer ;  and  in  order  to  begin  artis- 
tically, he  had  ordered  two  carriages  to  drive 
after  the  one  in  which  they  themselves  sat,  both 
of  them  filled  with  flowers. 

Thora  and  Harold  were  not  quite  comfort- 
able together  this  morning,  and  both  were  glad 
of  the  companionship  of  this  eccentric  host. 
The  procession  drove  down  the  Avenue  d'Or- 
leans,  past  Marshal  Ney  on  his  pedestal,  with 
his  sword  drawn  for  France,  and  on  past  the 
Luxembourg  gardens,  where  the  fountains 
played  among  the  statues,  and  greenery,  and 
flowers,  and  greenery,  and  yet  more  greenery. 
Harold's  spirits  rose.  He  pushed  back  his 
hat,  leaned  back  in  the  carriage,  and  held  up 
his  face  towards  the  clear  sunshine.  He 
laughed.  The  Finn  talked,  and  they  all 
laughed.  People  stopped  to  look  at  this  pro- 
cession, this  carriage  followed  by  two  more 
carriages  laden  with  all  this  splendor.  Now 
they  had  crossed  the  Seine,  and  the  Gardens  of 
the  Tuileries  opened  out  before  them — ^lawns, 
monuments,  great  vases,  statues,  obelisks,  and 
everywhere  a  wealth  of  red,  yellow  and  white 


60  The  Face  of  the  World 

flowers.  Here  the  Finn  beckoned  to  another 
carriage,  made  the  flower-sellers  fill  it  with 
roses,  and  bade  it  join  the  procession.  "You're 
mad!"  cried  Thora,  laughing.  "You're  quite 
out  of  your  mind !"  But  she  clapped  her  hands 
and  beamed  with  delight.  "That's  what  she 
wants  her  husband  to  be  hke,"  thought  Har- 
old.   "She's  happy  now." 

They  were  now  approaching  the  Place  de 
I'Etoile,  and  dashed  beneath  the  lofty  Arc  de 
Triomphe,  and  on  towards  the  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne. Everywhere  there  were  people  in  sum- 
mer attire,  and  a  constant  stream  of  carriages 
in  each  direction.  Motor  horns  hooted  among 
rearing  horses;  an  open  carriage  came  along, 
looking  like  an  enormous  bed  of  roses,  but 
proved  to  be  full  of  ladies'  hats ;  a  long-handled 
pair  of  eye-glasses  was  raised  before  a  painted 
face;  a  young  man  in  the  carriage  stood  up 
and  made  a  deep  bow.  Wavelets  of  powder 
and  perfume  hovered  in  the  air.  Nearer  the 
forest  there  were  riders  too,  a  world  of  leafage, 
green  glades,  young  women  in  white  dresses. 
Laughter  filled  the  air ;  children  played.   Paris 


The  Face  of  the  World  61 

unfolded  herself,  and  was  all  fragrance  and 
summer. 

They  breakfasted  in  a  pavilion  in  the  wood; 
Thora  sang,  the  Finn  sang,  and  Harold  whis- 
tled. Champagne  was  placed  upon  the  table, 
and  over  the  foaming  wine  Harold,  who,  until 
then,  had  been  in  a  gay  mood,  happened  to 
think  of  the  work-people  who  provided  the 
Finnish  land-owner  with  his  income.  The  son 
probably  spent  in  a  couple  of  days  what  one 
of  the  farm-laborers  earned  in  a  year. 

On  their  way  back  they  stopped  at  one  wing 
of  the  Louvre,  and  the  three  young  people  as- 
cended the  broad  stair  to  the  paintings  section 
on  the  first  floor.  The  building  re-echoed  with 
the  sound  of  footsteps  and  voices  from  the 
stream  of  people  passing  up  and  down  through 
the  various  rooms. 

There  was  a  pervading  gallery-smell — a 
smell  of  oil,  colors  and  dust.  There  was  no 
one  standing  copying,  for  it  was  Sunday.  But 
the  paintings  are  never  so  alive  as  when  one 
feels  it  is  summer  outside.  The  warm  sunshine 
streaming  through  the  high  windows  excites 


62  The  Face  of  the  World 

the  senses,  making  them  keenly  receptive  of 
great  and  beautiful  impressions.  The  master- 
pieces no  longer  hang  upon  the  walls;  they 
flow  into  one's  mind.  The  flood  of  golden  light 
makes  the  shadows  so  soft  and  full  of  a  dull 
glow.  Harold  was  obHvious  of  everything  here. 
He  came  from  champagne  in  the  Bois ;  he  came 
to  Rubens  and  Velasquez.  And  how  many  dif- 
ferent moods  did  each  picture  call  up?  By 
practice  he  had  made  himself  able  to  feel  the 
lines  and  color  of  a  painting,  but  that  was  not 
enough.  Today  he  could  only  see  the  time 
from  which  they  sprang.  Vandyck's  knights 
in  spurs  and  velvet  came  from  exploits  and 
were  going  to  court ;  they  stood  ready  to  mount 
their  horses  and  set  off  at  a  gallop.  What 
then?  What  were  the  times,  the  people  sur- 
rounding this  upper  class?  He  had  not  thought 
of  this  until  today;  but  once  more,  as  with  the 
champagne  in  the  Bois,  it  gave  an  after-taste 
to  the  enjojmient.  Tintoretto's  holy  feasts 
seemed  to  give  out  a  fragrance  of  fruit  and 
wine;  the  silk  on  his  figures  could  actually  be 
heard  to  rustle.     Rubens'  angels  were  little 


The  Face  of  the  World  63 

balls  of  merriment,  and  the  flush  on  the  skin 
of  Titian's  women  was  so  lifelike  that  one  al- 
most expected  them  to  move  and  welcome  a 
guest. 

The  spirit  and  the  people  of  many  centuries 
stood  out  vividly  from  these  endless  rows  of 
paintings,  and  men  and  women  of  the  present 
day  moved  past  them,  stopped  and  absorbed 
this  remote  life  which  an  artist  has  rescued  from 
death,  received  it  into  their  consciousness,  and 
were  nourished  by  it;  then  passed  on  to  other 
pictures,  and  finally  went  home  with  the  feel- 
ing that  they  had  been  in  new  and  magic  lands. 

The  sculptor  walked  about  the  gallery  with 
the  critical  mien  of  one  who  understands  all 
about  it,  and  praises  and  condemns  in  accord- 
ance with  his  present-day  conception  of  art. 
But  Harold's  gaze  was  fixed  on  Thora.  Thora's 
eyes  were  full  of  fancies,  as  if  all  this  splen- 
dor on  the  walls  had  infected  her  and  filled 
her  mind  with  an  ardent  dehght.  She  held 
herself  erect,  the  movements  of  her  body  were 
assured,  her  smile  far-away;  she  stood  still  for 
a  moment,  went  on  again,  stopped  once  more, 


64  The  Face  of  the  World 

and  actually  sunned  herself  in  this  revelation 
of  all  that  constantly  occupied  her  thoughts. 
There  was  a  slight  flush  upon  her  face,  as 
though  she  were  swaying  in  a  dance  with  one 
whom  she  secretly  loved. 

Harold  stood  beside  her  in  front  of  David's 
great  picture  of  Napoleon's  coronation.  The 
Emperor,  with  a  mantle  of  ermine  over  his 
shoulders  and  oak-leaves  about  his  brow,  thinks 
the  old  pope  is  too  slow,  and  has  himself  seized 
the  crown  and  is  about  to  place  it  on  the  head 
of  the  kneeling  Empress.  Round  them  is  an 
assemblage  of  ladies  and  generals  of  the  Re- 
pubHc,  who  cannot  hide  their  smiles  at  this  re- 
ligious comedy  which  they  thought  was  past 
and  done  with. 

Suddenly  Harold  said :  "That  man  was  one 
of  the  world's  greatest  criminals." 

Thora  started  as  if,  while  music  was  being 
played,  she  had  heard  a  gun  fired.  "What?" 
she  said,  gazing  at  him  with  lifted  eyebrows. 
"What  did  you  say?" 

"No,  I  only  meant  that  he  made  a  bungle  of 
the  revolution.  How  far  along  the  world  would 


The  Face  of  the  World  65 

have  been  if  only  he  had  lost  the  battle  of 
Lodil" 

"Is  that  how  you  look  at  art?"  she  asked  re- 
sentfully, and  involuntarily  looked  tov^ards  the 
sculptor,  who  was  approaching. 

"No,  no  I  Don't  be  cross !  It  was  only  some- 
thing I  happened  to  think  about." 

"You're  at  the  protestation  meeting  still,  I 
can  see,"  she  answered,  turning  away  from 
him. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  the  sculptor. 

Harold  smiled  and  continued:  "Have  you 
noticed  that  the  painters  of  the  Renaissance  al- 
most always  kept  to  the  upper  classes?  But 
every  one  can't  have  worn  velvet  and  brocade 
in  those  days  either." 

"It  isn't  true  I"  cried  his  wife,  turning  quick- 
ly towards  him  again.  "Didn't  Rembrandt 
paint  both  rags  and  butchers'  meat?  And  there 
hangs  a  street-arab  pulling  at  his  shirt,  done 
by  Murillo.  Isn't  that  democratic  enough 
either?" 

"She's  still  angry  with  me,"  thought  Har- 
old, walking  away  from  them. 


66  The  Face  of  the  World 

It  was  true,  however,  that  he  could  not  keep 
his  thoughts  on  the  pictures  as  he  had  done  be- 
fore. Irrelevant  impressions  lurked  in  the 
background  of  his  mind,  and,  pressing  for- 
ward, would  make  him  quite  forget  for  long 
moments  what  picture  he  really  was  looking 
at.  It  worried  him,  but  he  felt  nevertheless 
that  it  could  not  be  otherwise.  Looking  at 
Veronese's  beautiful  women,  he  thought  of  the 
number  of  slaves  there  must  have  been  to  main- 
tain such  an  article  of  luxury.  What  is  it  then 
that  you  bring  forth,  O  mind  of  man?  What  is 
all  this  to  me  who  stand  here  and  live  today? 
Art?  Is  that  enough?  Culture?  Is  that 
enough? 

The  paintings  disappeared,  and  crowds  of 
down-trodden  thralls  of  various  ages  pressed 
forward  and  began  to  raise  threatening  hands. 
And  Thora  and  the  sculptor  were  standing 
close  together  in  front  of  a  picture,  in  another 
world  altogether. 

The  following  winter  was  different  from  the 
one  before  for  the  young  couple  up  on  Mont- 


The  Face  of  the  World  67 

rouge.  Thora  went  to  a  school  of  painting, 
and  when  Harold  came  home  from  the  Insti- 
tute, nothing  was  ready,  and  he  had  to  get  his 
dinner  himself.  She  went  every  evening  to  the 
Cafe  de  Versailles  to  meet  the  artists,  and  he 
stayed  at  home  to  read,  or  went  to  meetings. 
And  if  it  did  happen  that  they  were  together 
by  their  little  lamp  for  an  evening,  there  were 
long  intervals  of  silence;  and  now  and  again 
one  of  them  would  look  up  at  the  other,  won- 
dering at  that  cleft  between  them  that  each  saw 
growing  ever  wider. 


One  day  in  May,  when  there  was  sunshine 
and  budding  leafage  in  Christiania,  Harold 
Mark  was  walking  up  Carl  Johan  Street.  He 
was  looking  about  him,  for  he  expected  to  meet 
Dr.  Wilse,  with  whom  he  had  spoken  on  the 
telephone  for  a  moment.  At  last  he  saw  the 
tall  figure  coming  across  the  Students'  Grove. 
It  was  three  years  since  the  two  friends  had 
met,  and  they  stopped  involuntarily,  each  to 
look  for  the  possible  change  that  mio-ht  have 
come  in  the  other. 

"Did  you  come  by  boat  last  night?"  Wilse 
asked  as  they  shook  hands. 

"This  morning  by  the  boat  from  Havre," 
answered  Harold,  "and  the  crossing  was  splen- 
did." 

"Then  your  wife  was  not  seasick?" 

"My  wife  I  No.  She  stayed  behind  in 
Paris." 

"What?    Have  you  left  her  behind?" 

68 


The  Face  of  the  World  69 

Harold  Mark  pulled  at  his  moustache  as 
they  sauntered  up  the  street. 

"Well,  my  wife,  you  see,  she — she's  going 
to  stay  there  another  year  and  go  to  the  school 
of  art.  It  was  such  a  good  thing  that  we 
could  manage  it.  She's  really  awfully  clever. 
— Oh,  but  I  say  I  Ha,  ha,  ha!  I  can't  help 
laughing." 

"What's  the  joke?" 

"Why,  the  distances  here!'*  And  Harold 
stopped  and  looked  from  the  Storting,  past 
the  Grand  Hotel,  up  towards  the  University, 
as  if  he  were  at  a  puppet-show. 

"Does  it  seem  so  small?" 

"I  didn't  know  that  all  the  distances  in  this 
town  measured  only  two  steps.  I  can't  help 
laughing.  If  you  light  your  cigar  at  the 
Storting,  the  match  burns  all  the  way  up  to 
the  Palace  Hill.  It's  unique!  And  just  fancy 
that  we  went  about  here  for  seven  long  student- 
years,  and  imagined  that  this  was  a  large 
town!" 

"You  needn't  be  so  stuck-up  because  you've 
come  from  the  Continent!" 


70  The  Face  of  the  World 

They  strolled  along  the  street  a  little  way, 
while  Dr.  Wilse  told  Marks  of  the  happenings 
of  their  mutual  friends.  Most  of  them  were 
scattered  about  in  various  towns  and  districts, 
two  or  three  had  drifted  to  America,  and  only 
a  few  were  still  in  town.  He  himself  had  just 
begun  as  a  specialist  in  skin  diseases. 

"But  you  must  have  a  good  deal  to  tell  on 
the  subject  that  is  new,"  he  said.  "You  per- 
suaded the  chimpanzee  to  let  himself  be  in- 
fected with  lues  down  there  at  the  Pasteur  In- 
stitute." 

Harold  nodded,  but  laughed  ironically. 

"Laughing  again?" 

"Well,  surely  I'm  allowed  to  laugh?  But  I 
say — shall  we  go  and  drink  a  farewell  glass 
together?" 

"Farewell?  You  don't  mean  to  say  you're 
going  away  again  at  once?" 

Harold  smiled,  but  did  not  seem  inclined  to 
enter  into  the  subject.  They  went  into  the 
Grand  Hotel  Cafe,  where  Harold  ordered 
port,  and  the  two  friends  sat  down  by  a  win- 
dow and  drank  to  one  another. 


The  Face  of  the  World  71 

"I  suppose  you've  finished  working  for  your 
doctor's  degree  now?"  Wilse  asked. 

His  companion  smiled  again,  and  looked  out 
at  the  people  passing  up  and  down  the  street. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  admire  in  these  peo- 
ple?" he  said  suddenly,  without  answering  his 
friend's  question.  "Their  capability  of  dull- 
ness. They  know,  of  course,  if  they  would 
think  a  little,  that,  at  this  moment,  the  most 
terrible  things  are  happening  round  about 
them,  and  yet  they  dress  themselves  up  and 
admire  and  laugh  and  haven't  a  care  in  the 
world.  When  you  see  ladies  like  those  just 
coming  out  of  the  confectioner's,  you'd  think 
the  world  was  surfeited  with  chocolate  and 
nice  cakes.  Well,  well,  after  all,  that's  wis- 
dom— the  art  of  living.  Why  in  the  world 
should  one  trouble  one's  self  about  the  thou- 
sands of  idiots  sitting  biting  their  nails  who 
have  nothing?" 

"You  won't  answer  my  question  about  your 
doctor's  degree?"  said  Wilse,  with  a  searching 
glance,  as  he  offered  Harold  a  cigarette.  Har- 
old lighted  it,  and  smiled  again  as  he  blew 


72  The  Face  of  the  World 

clouds  of  smoke  towards  the  window;  then  he 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  for  a  mo- 
ment at  his  companion, 

"I  say,"  he  began  at  last,  "don't  you  think 
we  doctors  are  a  set  of  ridiculous  fellows?" 

"Well,  perhaps,"  said  Wilse,  blinking  his 
eyes.  He  liked  to  hear  his  friend's  paradoxes, 
to  which  he  had  been  accustomed  formerly. 

"I  won't  mention  facts  such  as  that  half  the 
prescriptions  we  write  are  at  best  harmless, 
that  only  a  fourth  part  actually  kill  people, 
and  that  the  rest  may  help  to  make  some  one 
or  other  well  again.  We'll  say  nothing  about 
that,  for  it  may  possibly  be  different  some  day. 
A  famous  surgeon  in  England  confessed  to 
me  over  his  third  glass  of  whiskey,  that  when 
he  thought  of  all  the  poor  devils  that  he  had 
killed  by  mistake,  neglect,  or  sheer  ignorance, 
he  almost  went  mad.  But  we'll  say  nothing 
about  that  either;  things  may  become  better 
some  day.  No,  the  main  point  is  that  if  we 
want  to  be  anything  more  than  a  cobbler,  who 
patches  up  a  torn  shoe  as  well  as  he  can,  we 
must  go  to  the  source  of  most  of  the  diseases 


The  Face  of  the  World  73 

in  this  world,  namely,  the  conditions  of  life. 
Most  people  die  either  of  starvation  or  of  over- 
feeding, either  of  idleness  or  of  overwork. 
There  are  factories  where  the  employes  have 
no  prospect  of  reaching  the  age  of  forty.  We 
wear  shirts  made  by  young  women  whose  daily 
wage  is  so  small  that  they  must  add  to  it  by 
becoming  prostitutes.  On  the  other  hand, 
comes  old  Metschnikoff  and  says:  'Another 
victory  for  medical  science!  I've  got  a  poor 
ape  infected  with  lues!*  What  do  you  think 
of  that?" 

"You  want  us  to  mix  up  medical  science 
with  politics?"  asked  Wilse. 

"I  once  believed,"  Harold  went  on,  "that 
mankind,  taken  as  a  whole,  was  on  its  way  to 
— well,  to  some  better  land,  that  the  time 
would  come  when  there  would  be  no  more  sick- 
ness, and  when  the  human  race  would  be 
healthy,  beautiful  and  happy.  But  I  know 
now  that  the  chances  are  just  as  great  of  our 
going  steadily  and  surely  to  hell.  A  famous 
anthropologist  said  recently  that  a  more  or 
less  upright,  happy  community  of  men  is  an 


74  The  Face  of  the  World 

impossibility,  simply  because  before  that  time 
mankind  will  have  become  completely  degen- 
erate.   What  do  you  say  to  that?" 

"What  do  I  say  to  that?"  said  Wilse,  smil- 
ing a  crooked  smile  as  he  turned  his  glass 
round  and  round  on  the  table. 

"Well,  I  myself  think  that  it's  we  who 
have  to  be  responsible  for  the  direction  it 
takes,  either  to  ruin  or  to  a  richer,  greater 
type  of  man.  It's  just  we  doctors.  Do  you 
see  that?" 

"That's  saying  a  great  deal!  Is  all  that  re- 
sponsibiHty  to  rest  upon  us?" 

"Yes,  if  we  don't  shirk  it,  which  is  another 
matter.  But  if  we  really  wake  up  one  day 
and  see  that  it  is  actually  the  whole  of  man- 
kind that  is  diseased,  we  wouldn't  seal  our- 
selves up  in  some  specialty  and  sit  comfort- 
ably in  a  consulting-room  putting  on  little 
patches  and  letting  everything  else  take  care 
of  itself.    No,  we  wouldn't  do  that." 

Dr.  Wilse  flushed.  "That's  a  hit  at  me," 
he  said  with  an  attempt  at  a  laugh. 

"Yes,  and  at  myself,  too,  sitting  here  and 


The  I  xe  of  the  World  75 

only  talkinpp  and  enjoying  myself  drinking 
this  liquid,  which,  after  all,  is  the  main  source. 
.  .  .  No,  let  us  talk  about  something  pleasant. 
How  is  your  sister?    Married?    Really?" 

"Whact  are  you  now  going  to  do,  then?" 

"II  Ah,  my  friend,  I  intend  to  take  no 
thought  for  anything  but  myself." 

"Oh,  yes;  that  would  be  like  you!" 

Harold  kept  on  emptying  and  refilling  his 
glass  from  the  bottle  that  stood  between  them. 
His  face  was  flushed  and  his  eyes  shone,  but 
there  were  continual  nervous  movements  of 
his  features. 

"I'll  go  into  the  country  and  make  love  to 
young  girls.  Oh,  you  wouldn't  believe  how 
much  I  want  to  let  myself  go!  But  I  say — 
l\pw  is  it  with  you?  I  expect  in  your  inner- 
most soul  you're  cherishing  some  bright  dream 
or  other,  aren't  '^^ou?" 

"A  bright  dream?"  said  Wilse  soberly,  look- 
ing at  his  companion. 

"Well,  yes.  You  must  have — or  haven't 
you? — deep  down,  as  it  were,  a  feeling  that 
tomorrow,  or  in  a  few  years'  time,  all  evil  will 


76  The  Face  of  the  World 

be  at  an  end,  and  that  the  world  will  have  at- 
tained everything  that  we  and  the  other  mil- 
lions are  dreaming  about.    Don't  you  feel  like 

that,  Peter?    I  think "  Harold  closed  his 

eyes  for  a  moment,  and  bent  his  head  over  his 
glass.  He  seemed  as  though  he  were  about 
to  rise  suddenly  and  go,  but  leaned  back 
again,  fingering  his  glass  and  looking  into  the 
dark  wine. 

*'After  all,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "we  be- 
long to  the  sun,  but  there  are  a  few  things 
that  must  be  cleared  out  of  the  way  first.  Or 
perhaps — yes,  that  must  be  it — ^we  have  to  go 
like  beggars  to  the  gi-eat  world  of  suffering  to 
acquire  by  barter  the  right  to  laugh  two  or 
three  times  a  week.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Why,  I'm 
actually  laying  bare  my  irmnortal  soul!" 

He  rose  suddenly,  paid  the  waiter  and  pre- 
pared to  leave  the  restaurant.  "Confounded 
nuisance,"  he  thought,  "that  even  to  your  best 
friend  it's  impossible  to  talk  about  what's  near- 
est to  your  heart!" 

"You're  a  strange  fellow!"  said  Wilse,  ad- 
justing his  glasses  as  they  stood  in  the  street 


The  Face  of  the  World  77 

before  parting.  "You  talk  about  drinking  a 
farewell  glass,  and  you  won't  tell  me  what 
you're  going  to  start  on !" 

Harold  laughed  and  looked  up  the  street. 
"Well,  my  friend,"  he  said,  "it  may  be  that  I 
shall  have  to  begin  on  something  or  other  that 
you  others  won't  like.  This  ought  perhaps  to 
have  been  our  farewell;  but  joking  apart — 
can't  we  make  a  night  of  it?  You  come  out 
with  me!  We'll  first  have  supper,  and  then 
— ^well,  confound  it,  we  can  surely  just  once 
more  crown  ourselves  with  vine-leaves.  Very 
well,  then,  eight  o'clock.    Au  revoirl" 

•  ••••• 

A  few  days  later  Harold  Mark  sat  in  his 
unpretending  little  flat  in  the  poor  part  of  the 
town,  and  looked  about  him.  He  had  raked 
together  the  necessary  furniture,  most  of  it  be- 
ing second-hand  things  bought  at  an  auction. 
Why  not?  In  the  corner  room  all  his  surgical 
instruments  shone  in  their  glass  cases,  and  his 
plate  was  already  fastened  to  the  street  door. 
(He  had  also  managed  to  get  hold  of  an  elderly 
maid,  who  at  the  present  moment  was  rattling 


78  The  Face  of  the  World 

pots  and  pans  in  the  kitchen  in  the  prepara- 
tion of  dinner. 

"So  here  I  ami"  he  murmured  as  he  looked 
about  him  and  then  began  to  pace  up  and 
down.  "It's  funny  that  I,  who  was  considered 
a  talented  fellow  and  with  the  makings  of  a 
professor  in  me,  should  have  gone  quite  wrong 
— ^ha,  ha! — have  become  a  revolutionist  and 
have  landed  here."  He  stopped  at  the  window 
and  looked  out.  Rain  and  mud,  a  view  of  fac- 
tories and  smoke  and  dirty  houses,  hang  it  all  I 
Even  in  the  poor  districts  in  Paris  you  still 
had  the  feeling  that  you  were  in  that  glorious 
city.  There  was  always  some  temple  or  other 
of  intellect  and  genius  close  by.  But  here! 
Hideous  houses,  refuse  in  the  street,  spirits, 
fear  of  hell,  and  priests  who  went  round  and 
looked  after  the  dustbins,  and  scolded  on 
jGod's  behalf  when  they  doled  out  a  halfpenny. 
"Well,  I've  chosen  to  settle  down  here,  so  it's 
all  right." 

He  began  to  pace  up  and  down  again  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "What  am  I  here 
for  exactly?"  he  went  on  to  himself.    "Well, 


The  Face  of  the  World  79 

I  want  to  arrange  things  with — ^with  what? 
With  God,  the  theologian  would  say.  With 
my  world's  conscience,  I  myself  say.  Yes, 
that's  it.  I  want  to  serve  my  time  and  try  to 
get  the  moral  means  to  live  some  day  in  nice 
smroundings,  cultivate  my  mind,  drink  in 
beauty,  and  have  a  share  in  all  the  joys  and 
pleasures  of  the  world.  That  is  what  I  want, 
I  suppose,  and  some  day  I  shall  probably  be 
able  to  afford  it,  too.  But  there  are  a  few 
things  to  be  cleared  out  of  the  way  first,  and 
a  few  things  that  I  must  be  quite  certain 
about.  What  are  they?  Well,  in  the  first 
place,  where  we  really  come  from.  I  mus? 
form  an  opinion  on  that  point.  That's  one 
thing.  And  in  the  second  place,  where  we  all 
go  to — not  science,  technics,  culture  and  poli- 
tics, but  mankind,  all  men.  Where  are  we 
going  to?  I  can  never  feel  quite  easy  until 
I've  formed  a  decided  opinion  on  the  subject. 
We  must  be  here  for  some  purpose.  We  must 
be  going  somewhere,  and  not  into  abysmal 
darkness;  no,  it  must  surely  be  towards  the 
sun,  when  all  souls  stream  together  into  the 


80  The  Face  of  the  World 

infinite  light.  That's  where  we're  going.  But 
I  must  be  perfectly  certain  about  it  before  I 
can  devote  myself  entirely  to  my  own  happi- 
ness. Certain!  When  shall  I  be  that?  When 
shall  I  be  that?  And  is  there  much  good  in 
my  digging  down  into  the  dirt  here,  and  giv- 
ing up  all  the  youth  I  have  still  left?  Is  there 
really  any  good?" 

He  stood  still  for  a  moment  facing  the  win- 
dow, and  whistled. 

"Good?  ISTo,  of  course  not,  but  the  thing  is 
that  I  must  have  every  one  with  me.  Per- 
haps when  it  comes  to  the  point,  that's  why 
I'm  here  now.  Every  one  with  me?  I  go 
about  dreaming  that  some  day  our  mind  will 
take  in  the  whole  human  choir,  and  then  there 
must  be  no  voice  out  of  tune.  That's  why 
I'm  beginning  here.    It's  most  needed  here. 

"But,  dear  me,  isn't  it  ridiculous  to  want  to 
do  it?  If  I  look  around  I  see  what  resistance 
there  is.  Don't  they,  one  and  all,  creep  into 
their  shell  and  call  it  the  world  and  feel  com- 
fortable? And  I — I  want  to  get  hold  of  all 
the  others.     I  don't  want  to  be  comfortable 


The  Face  of  the  World  81 

alone;  I  want  to  have  every  one  with  me. 
When  I  learned  anything  new  in  my  science, 
the  pleasure  was  never  complete  because  I 
thought:  Why  don't  the  others  know  this?  I 
wanted  the  others  with  me.  I  wanted  to  rise 
to  an  ever  richer  life,  but  I  wanted  to  hold  the 
others  by  the  hand.  Come  with  me  I  Even 
the  smallest  shall  come  with  me.  Some  day  we 
shall,  all  together,  raise  our  voices  in  the  great 
hymn.  A  dream,  a  belief,  music  in  the  soul — 
what  more?" 

He  smiled  as  he  faced  the  window.  For  a 
moment  of  silent  happiness  he  looked  down 
into  the  depths  of  himself.  Then  he  passed 
his  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"Yes,  I  see — I  see  perhaps  part  of  the  im- 
mense ocean,  but  what  am  I  against  this  huge 
volume?  If  most  that  happens  in  the  world 
is  wrong,  if  all  sound  is  discord,  what  is  the 
good  of  my  drinking  it  into  my  being  and  liv- 
ing as  I  do?  What  can  I  change?  What 
am  I  equal  to?  Here  I  stand  and  occupy  an 
area  of  half  a  square  metre  in  a  gloomy  room 
in  a  corner  of  the  world,  and  at  the  same  time 


82  The  Face  of  the  World 

the  whole  world  is  buzzing  in  my  mind.  Wh^t 
am  I  equal  to?  The  great  world-conscience  is 
one  thing,  but  the  ability  to  alter  anything  is 
another.  What  can  I  put  right,  I,  a  little  in- 
sect, whose  life  can  be  extinguished  in  a  mo- 
ment? And  yet  I  try  to  take  the  burden  of 
the  world  upon  my  shoulders,  and  to  rise  and 
carry  it  on  a  little  way.  Good  heavens,  what 
a  comed}^!    God  help  me  I" 

He  bowed  his  head. 

"Thora!  Thora!  We  were  happy,  we  two, 
when  the  world  was  only  you  and  I.  Where 
are  you  now?    What  are  you  doing  now?" 


VI 

Some  stirring  years  passed,  during  which 
time  Harold  Mark's  name  became  well  known. 
He  began  as  a  socialist  and  soon  became  a 
total  abstainer;  he  spoke  at  the  great  labor 
demonstrations,  was  abused  by  the  middle- 
class  press  and  applauded  by  his  own;  he  was 
continuallj''  attending  committee  meetings  and 
calling  at  the  editorial  offices  of  his  own 
party's  newspapers,  always  in  impatient  haste, 
as  though  only  anxious  to  be  free  to  go  on 
to  the  next.  He  was  soon  a  famihar  figure  in 
the  houses  of  the  poor  district  where,  as  doc- 
tor, he  was  always  trudging  up  and  down  the 
dark  stairways  both  day  and  night.  He  never 
had  any  leisure,  never  any  time  to  rest.  He 
entered  into  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  the  in- 
dividual, but  did  not  on  that  account  lose  inter- 
est in  the  great  outside  world.  If  he  lay 
awake  at  night  thinking  about  a  patient  whose 
life  might  yet  possibly  be  saved,  the  great 

83 


84  The  Face  of  the  World 

world  would  at  the  same  time  be  passing 
through  his  brain,  and  his  thoughts  be  in  Rus- 
sia, following  the  long  train  of  prisoners  on 
their  way  to  Siberia,  or  with  the  labor  con- 
flicts in  the  various  countries.  In  the  Balkan 
States,  in  Austria,  in  Russia,  in  Asia,  there 
were  down-trodden  races  waiting  for  their 
hour  of  release.  Was  it  a  matter  of  indiffer- 
ence to  him?  The  pious  Europeans  went  forth 
with  the  cross  in  front  of  their  guns,  and  dev- 
astated with  fire  and  sword  the  homes  of 
peaceful  peasants  in  other  parts  of  the  world; 
and  every  time  a  government  committed  a 
mean  act,  the  priests  went  in  a  procession  to 
church  and  praised  ,God.  These  thronging 
scenes  from  the  great  world  were  always  in 
his  mind,  and  became  especially  vivid  when  he 
should  have  been  sleeping.  They  often  seemed 
like  feverish  visions ;  but  bromide  can  do  noth- 
ing for  a  sick  world. 

As  doctor  also,  he  now  began  to  be  exceed- 
ingly sceptical  of  himself,  for  the  more  he 
travelled  and  saw  and  learned,  the  greater  was 
the  demand  he  made  upon  himself,  and  the 


The  Face  of  the  World  85 

better  he  knew  how  easy  it  was  to  fail.  He 
would  come  home  inconsolable  at  having  made 
a  wrong  diagnosis,  and  thereby  perhaps  killed 
a  man.  On  coming  to  a  bedside  he  would 
sometimes  instantly  see  that  he  could  do  noth- 
ing, and  yet  he  had  to  write  a  prescription. 
He  would  have  to  prescribe  a  tonic  for  a  con- 
sumptive woman  who  worked  in  the  steam- 
laden  atmosphere  of  a  laundry ;  and  if  he  said 
what  was  the  truth — "Go  into  the  country! 
The  medicine  you  need  is  sunshine,  fresh  air 
and  good  food," — she  might  answer,  "Well, 
give  me  the  money  for  it!"  He  soon  became 
cautious  about  ordering  another  kind  of  work, 
for  if  a  young  girl  left  what  she  had,  and  did 
not  perhaps  at  once  get  anything  else  to  do, 
she  would  end  on  the  street,  and  some  day 
would  come  to  him  again  with  a  disease  that 
was  still  worse. 

His  day  was  cut  up  by  visits,  and  by  tele- 
phone-calls during  mealtimes  or  about  mid- 
night just  as  he  had  dropped  off  to  sleep.  He 
would  come  home  after  a  night  spent  at  a  con- 
finement, and  only  just  have  time  to  drink  a 


86  The  Face  of  the  World 

cup  of  coffee  before  his  consulting  hours  be- 
gan again.  But  he  was  not  allowed  to  be 
tired.  It  might  cost  a  human  life  if  his  judg- 
ment were  not  wide  awake.  After  a  toilsome 
day  he  might  sit  down  in  a  comfortable  chair 
with  a  book,  but  the  telephone  would  ring 
again.  He  must  always  be  ready  to  go  when 
called.  When  he  entered  a  sick-room,  many 
eyes  would  be  turned  towards  him,  requiring 
him  to  find  a  remedy  immediately.  When  a 
patient  recovered,  he  seldom  received  any 
thanks;  if  the  patient  died,  he  often  felt  that 
the  sorrowing  relatives  hated  him.  He  had 
grown  accustomed  to  all  this.  He  went  up 
to  attics  where  several  families  with  children 
were  crowded  together  in  one  room,  where  a 
man  might  be  lying  in  delirium  in  the  one  bed, 
and  a  hollow-cheeked  woman  sitting  on  a  chair 
by  his  side  with  Qye  or  six  children  clinging 
to  her  in  terror,  while  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room  sat  a  party  of  men  playing  cards.  He 
had  grown  accustomed  to  all  this.  As  he 
walked  along  the  street,  it  was  still  with  an 
easy  gait,  and  he  still  wore  his  hat  on  one  side; 


The  Face  of  the  World  87 

and  he  could  often  be  heard  whisthng  or  hum- 
ming a  tune  as  he  went  up  the  stairs. 

He  had  buried  himself  here,  but  he  meant 
to  keep  up  with  his  science,  go  to  hospitals 
and  see  big  operations,  read  his  party's  pa- 
pers and  those  of  his  opponents  and  of  the 
world.  When  once  he  was  in  bed  and  his  eyes 
closed,  then  his  mind  opened,  and  he  still  felt 
the  great  waves  from  the  ocean  without,  wash- 
ing in  and  out  of  his  heart. 

He  was  still  young.  His  mind  could  thrill 
in  sympathy  with  so  many  things. 

But  every  morning  when  he  opened  his  let- 
ter-box he  felt  a  secret  excitement.  Would 
there  be  a  letter  from  Paris  today? 

There  had  been  only  one  since  he  parted 
from  her,  and  he  knew  so  well  that  it  would 
be  so;  yet  he  always  hoped  without  really  ex- 
pecting. 

When  he  came  home  weary  and  sat  in  peace 
for  a  little  while,  a  sigh  would  sometimes  es- 
cape him.  "Oh,  God;  how  long  before  I  shall 
have  earned  my  freedom?" 

Freedom!    Oh,  yes,  the  day  must  soon  come 


88  The  Face  of  the  World 

when  he  would  think  he  had  served  his  time. 
That  he,  at  any  rate,  was  unable  to  bear  the 
world's  burden  any  farther,  was  something  he 
would  have  to  look  into,  however.  He  would 
have  to  content  himself  with  less.  When,  then, 
would  he  have  done  his  duty?  When  would 
he  be  free? 

There  were  moments  in  which  it  seemed  to 
his  fancy  that  he  would  once  more  live  through 
those  first  happy  days  in  Paris  with  Thora, 
and  the  world  stretched  wide  and  radiant  be- 
fore his  eyes. 

There  were  only  one  or  two  things  that  had 
to  be  cleared  away  first.  He  had  to  earn  and 
buy  his  freedom. 

But  why  should  he  always  have  this  great 
window  looking  on  to  mankind?  Mankind 
was  perhaps  moving  on  to  destruction,  or  per- 
haps to  the  great  dawn — who  knows?  But 
why  should  he  feel  this  ridiculous  responsibility 
for  the  result,  and  what  difference  would  it 
make  if  he  did  rush  about  and  fuss  night  and 
day  in  this  little  out-of-the-way  corner  of  the 
world? 


The  Face  of  the  World  89 

To  have  interests  becomes  wearisome  in  the 
end.  To  want  to  keep  up  with  everything,  to 
feel  it  of  the  greatest  consequence  that  every- 
thing finds  its  proper  place — all  this  is  weari- 
some. Even  if  he  had  not  exactly  thought  of 
it,  there  had  always  been  the  oppressive  feel- 
ing that  he  had  not  time  to  laugh,  to  enjoy 
himself,  to  rest,  to  see  old  friends.  So  there 
Was  more  and  more  that  positively  must  be 
cleared  away  before  he  could  feel  free. 

But  why  should  every  httle  step  forward 
take  such  a  sadly  long  time?  Does  not  man- 
kind trudge  round  and  round  in  the  same 
stupid  circle?  We  talk,  write,  work,  fight, 
and  after  many  years  of  it,  everything  is  as  it 
Was  before.  Harold  Mark  began  to  feel  it. 
■"Good  heavens,  Wilse !  You  call  me  a  fanatic, 
which  is  the  stick-in-the-mud's  way  of  saying 
that  we  are  impatient  and  want  things  to  go 
a  little  more  quickly.  Don't  you  see  that  when 
we  say  total  abstinence  we  mean  something 
ten  thousand  times  greater.  If  alcohol  lies 
like  a  stone  right  across  the  road,  and  the 
chariot  of  mankind — ^which  I  still  believe  to 


90  The  Face  of  the  World 

be  a  triumphal  chariot — comes  up  and  wishes 
to  drive  on,  is  it  to  take  us  a  hundred  years 
to  get  that  old  stone  cleared  out  of  the  way? 
IsTo,  my  friend!  Room  for  the  chariot!  Away 
with  the  obstacle !  If  there  are  any  idiots  who 
stand  in  the  way,  put  them  gently  on  one  side. 
Room  for  that  which  is  greater!  Room  for 
man!" 

Harold  Mark  could  not  stand  the  everlast- 
ing trudging  about  on  the  same  spot.  His  pa- 
tience began  to  fail  through  the  continual  wait- 
ing, and  doing  and  saying  the  same  things 
over  and  over  and  over  again.  He  became 
rougher  in  his  speeches,  wilder  in  his  articles, 
more  and  more  ruthless  towards  persons  and 
things.  Once  he  had  made  his  hearers  enthu- 
siastic; now  he  made  them  furious.  At  one 
time  he  had  perhaps  made  them  beheve;  now 
he  made  them  hate.  He  had  opponents  before, 
and  now  he  made  enemies.  Nevermind!  What 
difference  did  it  make? 

As  time  passed  a  change  took  place  in  him 
as  doctor.  When  beside  a  patient  he  no  longer 
thought  about  the  human  being,  but  about  the 


The  Face  of  the  World  91 

disease  itself  in  its  widest  sense.  "Yes,  here's 
another  tuberculosis !"  he  would  say  angrily  to 
himself  after  sounding  a  patient's  chest. 
"When  will  social  conditions  be  sufficiently 
clean  and  upright  as  to  make  this  unneces- 
sary?" "And  here  is  cancer  again!  What  in 
the  world  are  those  barbers'  blocks  in  the 
great  laboratories  doing,  not  to  have  found  a 
remedy  for  it  yet?  Are  we  still  to  go  on 
boasting  of  our  science?"  When  he  went  into 
a  workingman's  little  home,  and  saw  the  rav- 
ages that  alcohol  and  hunger  together  had 
made,  it  was  not  sympathy  he  felt.  No,  he 
cursed  and  swore  to  himself.  "This  is  what 
we  must  see  every  day,  and  it  will  be  the  same 
a  hundred  years  hence,  if  we  don't  make  a 
clean  sweep.  And  still  those  confounded  cap- 
itahsts  say  that  we  exaggerate  and  are  fanati- 
cal, and  the  priests  accept  kind  gifts  from  the 
spirit-merchants,  and  fold  their  hands  and 
thank  God  I" 

Harold  Mark's  ordinary  emotions  gradually 
grew  into  fury,  and  the  great  world  grew 
ever  darker  as  he  looked  out  over  it:  but  he 


92  The  Face  of  the  World 

would  still  sometimes  writhe  in  his  bed  and 
moan:  "O  ,God,  when  shall  I  be  free?  When 
shall  I  have  served  my  time?  Am  I  still  to  go 
on  leading  this  life  for  years?  When  shall  I 
be  free?" 


VII 

One  evening  late  in  INIarch,  Harold  came 
slowly  up  the  stairs  in  the  tenement-house 
where  he  lived.  The  rain  was  pouring  in  tor- 
rents and  the  west  wind  thundered  over  the 
town,  tearing  the  tiles  from  the  roofs  as  it 
passed.  His  yellow  mackintosh  was  dripping 
and  his  felt  hat  soaked.  His  galoshes  left  lit- 
tle puddles  at  ever^'-  step.  It  was  dark  in  the 
passage.  He  turned  up  the  light,  stripped  off 
his  wet  things,  and  by  force  of  habit  went  into 
his  consulting-room  to  wash  his  hands.  The 
room  smelt  of  drugs  and  of  the  laboring- 
class  patients  who  daily  visited  it.  From  the 
kitchen  came  the  odor  of  fried  fish,  his  eld- 
erly maid  having  probably  thought  that  just 
today  he  might  want  things  a  little  comfort- 
able when,  at  last,  he  came  home. 

"Supper's  ready!"  she  said,  as  she  stood, 
broad  and  white-haired,  in  the  doorway;  but 

93 


94  The  Face  of  the  World 

the  next  moment  she  started  back,  for  she  had 
never  before  seen  such  a  look  on  his  face. 

"Thank  you  I"  he  said  as  he  hung  up  the 
towel. 

In  the  sitting-room  he  stood  still  and  looked 
round.  He  had  often  thought  that  his  furni- 
ture was  incredibly  common,  but  nevertheless 
this  evening  it  seemed  much  too  good  for  him. 
"Oh,  Minda!"  he  said  as  he  sat  down  and  un- 
folded his  napkin,  "will  you  please  take  the 
telephone-receiver  off  the  hook?  I  want  to  be 
undisturbed  this  evening." 

"Yes,  sir;  you  need  a  rest,  I'm  sure,"  she 
answered  sympathetically,  and  did  as  he  asked 
her.  "Is  there  anything  else  you  want,  sir?" 
she  asked  when  she  came  back. 

"No,  nothing,  I  think;  thank  you." 

"Then  perhaps  I  might  go  to  the  prayer- 
meeting  at  the  Tabernacle,  sir?" 

"Oh,  dear  yes!"  he  replied  with  a  sigh. 

A  little  later  the  sound  of  her  retreating 
footsteps  died  away  on  the  stairs,  and  he  was 
alone.    He  ate  mechanically,  and,  every  now 


The  Face  of  the  World  95 

and  then,  fell  into  a  brown  study  and  sat  star- 
ing at  the  lamp. 

At  last  he  folded  his  napkin,  rose  from  the 
table,  took  up  his  pipe,  and  filled  and  lighted 
it.  For  a  moment  he  stood  looking  through 
the  clouds  of  smoke  as  he  murmured  to  him- 
self: "Well,  I've  got  to  take  the  consequences 
of  what  I  do.  It'll  do  nobody  any  good  if  I 
go  to  pieces.  But  honestly — ^haven't  I  been 
going  down  hill  all  the  time?  Wasn't  every- 
thing much  better  before?" 

He  paced  the  floor  for  a  little  while,  and 
then  went  into  his  consulting-room  and  turned 
up  the  light  over  the  writing-table;  but  after 
seating  himself  and  taking  out  a  sheet  of  note- 
paper,  he  sat  hesitating,  with  the  pen  in  his 
hand,  looking  at  the  light. 

"Dear  Mother,"  he  finally  began. 

"Tomorrow  the  papers  will  tell  you  in 
large-type  headlines  that  the  ill-famed  law-suit 
has  gone  against  me.  I  have  today  been  sen- 
tenced to  pay  a  heavy  fine  for  *slander,'  the  ex- 
pressions I  used  concerning  the  said  gentle- 
men who  have  made  fortunes  by  the  sale  of 


96  The  Face  of  the  World 

intoxicating  liquors  have  been  nullified,  and  I 
myself  am  made  to  stand  in  the  pillory  of  the 
country,  where  any  wretch  is  at  liberty  to  come 
and  spit  at  me.  It  gives  one  a  strange  feel- 
ing, and  as  this  is  the  fourth  time  that  I  have 
been  honored  in  this  way,  I  suppose  people 
will  really  begin  to  look  pityingly  at  you^  and 
not  think  it  strange  that  you  should  have  gray 
hair.  I  think,  however,  that  this  time  too  you 
will  be  proud,  and  will  continue  to  require  me 
to  consider  only  my  own  convictions. 

"On  the  other  hand,  as  I  sit  here,  I  feel 
strangely  irresolute.  I  don't  seem  to  know 
myself.  ]My  mind  was  once  filled  with  bright, 
golden  dreams,  but  now  I  dream  only  of  ene- 
mies, and  am  filled  only  with  hatred.  Where 
have  I  drifted  to?  Have  I  myself  been  ruined 
in  the  fight  for  a  good  cause?  Dear  Mother, 
I  am  unhappy.  I  am  not  only  tired,  but  thor- 
oughly ashamed;  and  you  must  bear  with  me 
when  I,  a  gray-haired  revolutionist,  come  and 
lay  my  head  in  your  lap  to  confess  to  you. 

"I  think  I  have  for  long  enough  had  a  great, 
earnest  desire  to  be  useful,  but  it  has  brought 
me  down  to  the  level  of  a  little  dog  that  is 
always  running  between  people's  legs.  Is  that 
necessary?    Belief  is  one  thing,  the  joy  of  at- 


The  Face  of  the  World  97 

tack  another;  but  is  wishing  to  improve  the 
world  the  same  thing  as  to  be  continually 
swearing  and  raging?  That  is  what  I  am 
thinking  as  I  sit  here;  and  there  is  a  mirror 
close  to  me,  but  I  dare  not  raise  my  head  and 
look  into  it.  Oh,  JSIother,  it  is  a  sad  fate  after 
all!  I,  who  for  a  good  many  years  have 
Imagined  that  I  was  a  clearer  of  the  ground, 
must  now  admit  that  the  evil  I  have  rooted 
out  has  been  very  little,  while  the  evil  I  have 
done  has  been  much  more. 

"And  I  believed  I  was  not  an  egoist!  I  like 
a  glass  of  wine,  and  an  occasional  dram  is  de- 
licious ;  and  yet  when,  in  my  practice,  my  eyes 
were  opened  to  the  ravages  of  alcohol,  I  gladly 
threw  my  own  glass  into  the  fire.  War 
against  that  which  is  poisoning  the  world! 
War  against  those  that  enrich  themselves  on 
the  ruin  of  others!  But  why  should  I  be  vul- 
gar when  I  wage  war  for  so  great  and  lofty  an 
idea? 

"He  that  wants  to  cleanse  an  Augean  stable 
must  of  necessity,  in  so  doing,  smell  foully.  It 
cannot  be  avoided.  But  as  I  sit  here  I  look  at 
my  hands.  I  have  often  written  with  a  veno- 
mous pen,  I  have  talked  fire  and  brimstone, 
I   have   persecuted   more   or   less   honorable 


98  The  Face  of  the  World 

men,  and  thrown  evil-smelling  bombs  into 
happy  homes.  The  evidence  that  I  was 
obliged  to  make  use  of  today  has  been  called 
coarse  and  scandalous;  and  now  that  I  am  no 
longer  blinded  by  my  struggle  to  defend  my- 
self, I  think  my  enemies  may  be  right.  I 
look  at  my  hands,  and  they  seem  to  be  spotted 
with  crimson  stains;  and  perhaps  'all  the  per- 
fumes of  Arabia'  will  not  make  them  white 
again. 

"Oh,  Mother,  can  it  be  that  he  that  fights 
for  a  renewal  of  the  world  accompHshes  noth- 
ing but  the  deeper  and  deeper  sinking  of  him- 
self? 

"Do  you  know  of  any  remedy  for  me. 
Mother?  It  is  so  long  since  I  saw  the  sun.  I 
want  to  breathe  in  the  scent  of  flowers,  mov^ 
about  in  bright  rooms,  be  with  happy,  har- 
monious people.  I  want  to  forget  who  I  am 
and  what  I  have  done,  and  especially  to  be- 
come something  different  from  what  I  now  am. 

"I  wonder  whether  this  feehng  that  I  have 
had  for  several  years  of  having  the  fate  of  the 
world  resting  on  my  shoulders,  has  not  been 
a  disease;  for  it  is  perfectly  absurd.  Why 
should  I  never  be  able  to  hear  beautiful  music 
without,  at  the  same  time,  being  aware  of  the 


The  Face  of  the  World  99 

complaining  cries  of  those  that  have  to  stand 
outside?  When  I  have  plenty  to  eat  I  am 
thinking  all  the  time  of  those  that  have  to  live 
on  the  crumbs  that  fall  from  the  rich  man's 
table.  This  consciousness  that  the  world  out- 
side is  staring  in  at  my  windows  has  made 
my  rooms  cold.  The  world?  That  is  wrong, 
however;  it  is  only  the  shadow  of  the  world. 
My  being  is  filled  with  the  misery  of  this 
world,  with  strikes,  poverty,  injustice,  crimes, 
bad  governments  and  stupid  laws.  Is  that  the 
world?  Yes,  the  newspapers'  and  telegrams' 
caricature  of  it.  But  there  are  also  fine, 
healthy  men,  beautiful  women,  entrancing 
landscapes,  roses  and  grapes.  What  room  do 
all  these  take  up  in  my  life?  None.  I  have 
gradually  become  so  unfamiliar.  Mother  dear, 
with  everything  like  fragrance  and  brightness, 

"If  only  the  world's  unfortunate  ones  had 
been  worth  our  sacrifice !  I  know  them  a  little 
better  now.  Who  deserted  me  today?  My 
party  friends.  Enemies  can  be  bad,  but  those 
that  share  your  opinions  are  often  much  worse. 
Mankind.    Mother,  do  you  know  mankind? 

"Do  you  know  who  the  oppressed  are? 
They  are  people  that  want  to  get  on  the  top 
so  as  to  be  able  to  oppress  others!    What  do 


100  The  Face  of  the  World 

most  workmen  do  when  they  get  higher  wages? 
They  do  worse  work.  Look  out  over  the 
world  where  we  go  about  and  boast  of  our 
progress.  What  do  you  see?  The  continents 
are  resounding  with  racial  hatred,  the  nations 
with  party  hatred,  the  different  groups  in  the 
parties  hate  one  another,  and  in  each  group 
members  stab  one  another  in  order  to  rise  and 
rule  over  the  others.  And  I  set  myself  up 
against  all  this  and  will  reform  it!    I! 

"Good  Lord,  Mother!  If  I  could  only  get 
rid  of  this  great,  burning  sjTiipathy  with 
everything  and  everybody.  AVho  has  poisoned 
my  life  with  it?  What  good  does  it  do  any 
one?  If  I  never  laugh  myself,  will  it  make 
others  weep  less?  If  I  go  about  in  the  dark 
myself,  will  the  others  then  have  sunshine?  I 
know  that  the  nearest  of  all  progress  is  eco- 
nomic and  social  justice;  but  even  if  we  reach 
this  in  a  hundred  years,  we  have  only  reached 
the  beginning — man.  Who  will  undertake  to 
form  a  greater  type  of  man?  Is  there  material 
in  this  crowd  of  sallow,  rights-bawling  pro- 
letarians with  hollow  chests  and  crooked  limbs, 
to  make  an  Apollo?  Will  their  mind  ever  be- 
come a  temple  and  not  a  dingy  tenement?  And 


The  Face  of  the  World  101 

the  others?  The  parasites  on  the  food-moun- 
tain, who  have  everything,  but  have  deserved 
nothing — the  priests  with  their  false  prating, 
the  poHticians  with  their  party  humbug,  the 
executioners  in  uniform — are  they  any  better? 
I  do  not  know.  I  no  longer  have  any  faith. 
But  if  not,  why  do  we  voluntarily  hang  our- 
selves upon  the  cross  merely  to  provide  some 
fools  with  food? 

"Good-night,  Mother!  I  dread  going  to 
bed,  for  when  I  close  my  eyes  the  nightmare 
begins.  I  think  about  everything  and  every- 
body. My  mind  enlarges  itself  so  as  to  em- 
brace the  whole  world.  Mankind  becomes  a 
seething  ocean  that  rolls  backwards  and  for- 
wards through  all  my  being.  I  grow  dizzy 
with  the  feeling  of  infinity.  Millions  of  cries 
for  help  rise  from  the  hopeless  confusion;  I 
see  a  crowd  of  faces,  contorted  with  pain ;  arms 
are  outstretched  for  help  as  from  millions  in 
danger  of  drowning.  What  can  I  do?  Share 
their  suffering?  Be  ruined  myself?  That  I 
can  do,  and  I  am  on  the  way  to  it.  But  I  am 
like  the  good  swimmer  who  feels  that  some 
one  has  seized  hold  of  his  feet  to  keep  himself 
up.     I  kick  them  away.     I  surely  have  the 


102  The  Face  of  the  World 

right  to  save  myself! — Ah,  Mother,  I  am  hun- 
gering and  thirsting  for  the  happy  youth  that 
I  have  sacrificed,  but  God  knows  whether  it  is 
not  too  late  to  overtake  it.'* 


yiii 

The  little  west-country  town  where  Fru 
Mark  had  her  school  lay  among  high  moun- 
tains at  the  head  of  a  bay,  and  looked  out  to 
the  open  sea.  It  was  the  meeting-place  of 
breezes  laden  with  the  scent  of  sea  and  snow- 
mountain,  of  cultivated  field  and  meadow 
along  the  shore,  and  of  fish  and  fish-oil  from 
the  quays.  The  houses  with  their  red-tiled 
roofs  stood  in  irregular  groups  dotted  all 
about  the  hills,  and  the  principal  street  wound 
past  the  quays,  curved  round  a  headland,  and 
finally  disappeared  in  its  course  through  the 
surrounding  district.  In  the  harbor,  espe- 
cially in  the  fishing-season,  there  was  life  and 
bustle  with  the  nimierous  vessels  of  all  kinds. 
Large  steamers  lay  to  at  the  quays  and  took 
in  cargoes  of  fish-oil  and  dried  fish ;  steam  and 
motor  fishing-boats  came  in  from  the  banks 
with  their  crews  clad  in  oilskins;  a  multitude 
of  sailing-vessels,  large  and  small,  came  in  and 

103 


104  The  Face  of  the  World 

out;  and,  in  among  them  all,  there  now  and 
then  would  shoot  a  gray  torpedo-boat  to  fetch 
the  mail  for  the  fleet  outside. 

It  was  a  town  with  its  face  turned  to  the 
sea,  whence  it  drew  its  life,  a  small  town  with 
large  fish-merchants  and  large  ship-owners, 
whose  cargo-steamers  made  tracks  across  dis- 
tant oceans.  At  one  time  a  single  man,  the 
great  Consul  Pram,  had  ruled  here  like  a  king. 
The  fishing-islands,  the  ships,  the  fish,  the  fish- 
oil,  the  meeting-houses,  the  banks,  the  posts  of 
honor,  and  the  princely  white  house  outside 
the  town,  were  all  his.  He  was  an  imperious 
man,  who,  according  to  report,  had  first  be- 
come rich  by  letting  his  vessels  carry  slaves 
from  Africa  to  America;  but  he  died  a  sin- 
cere Christian,  and  forgave  all  his  enemies  ex- 
cept Fru  Mark. 

Things  were  different  now.  After  his  time, 
men  in  small  circumstances  had  worked  them- 
selves up  to  greatness,  and  movements  had 
come  into  power  that  went  much  further  than 
Fru  Mark.  Every  morning  that  lady  might 
be  seen  coming  down  the  main  street  on  her 


The  Face  of  the  World  105 

way  to  the  school,  and,  later  in  the  day,  she 
passed  up  it  again  to  a  little  white  house  that 
stood  on  a  rocky  knoll  outside  the  town.  At 
one  time  there  were  a  good  many  people  who 
dared  not  show  her  any  sign  of  recognition 
because  she  was  at  war,  not  only  with  the 
priests,  but  also  with  the  king  of  the  town. 
Consul  Pram.  Now  every  one  greeted  her, 
and  on  festive  occasions  they  called  her  the 
mother  of  the  town.  She  was  just  entering 
on  her  sixties,  was  tall  and  dignified,  with  a 
refined,  small-featured  face  set  in  a  frame  of 
white  hair,  and  always  dressed  in  dark  colors. 
She  was  on  the  municipal  and  school  boards, 
and  had  the  credit  of  starting  the  home  for 
the  aged,  the  foundlings'  hospital,  the  art 
union,  the  labor  college  and  even  the  little 
theatre;  and  it  had  all  been  done  under  pro- 
test from  King  Pram.  Fru  Mark  also  kept 
her  eyes  open,  and  would  now  and  then  pay 
unexpected  visits.  If  a  drunken  man  went 
home  and  ill-treated  his  wife,  they  might  sud- 
denly hear  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  there 
stood  a  white-haired  woman.    People  said  of 


106  The  Face  of  the  World 

her  that  she  never  laughed,  but  her  smile  was 
one  that  no  one  would  forget.  She  had  once 
been  the  mistress  of  a  large  country  house,  but 
was  unhappily  married;  and  she  had  had 
much  to  contend  with  before  she  had  gained 
by  her  own  efforts  the  position  in  which  she 
now  stood. 

One  Saturday  evening  in  the  beginning  of 
May  there  was  great  excitement  in  the  club. 
The  gentlemen  of  the  town  were  sitting  at 
small  tables  with  their  whiskey  and  soda  and 
their  newspaper,  while  broad  streams  of  light 
fell  through  the  tall  windows  from  the  sun 
which  was  setting  in  clouds  of  fire  far  out  in 
the  west.  The  door  opened,  and  the  florid, 
spectacled  face  of  Lawyer  Gundahl  looked  in. 
Two  or  three  heads  were  lifted  with  an  ex- 
pectant look,  for  Lawyer  Gundahl  always  had 
news  to  tell. 

"What  is  it,  lawyer?" 

"You  never  heard  such  a  thing!"  he  said, 
coming  in  and  waving  a  paper.  "Have  you 
read  the  Evening  Paper?'* 

"No I    Is  there  any  news?" 


The  Face  of  the  World  107 

"Appointments,  gentlemen!  New  senior 
physician  at  the  seaside  hospital!" 

"Is  he  appointed  at  last?"  Several  men 
rose  and  looked  eagerly  at  the  little  news- 
paper, which  seemed  to  have  come  straight 
from  the  press. 

"Yes,  he's  appointed!"  cried  the  little  law- 
yer with  a  grimace.  "And  I'll  just  ask  you 
to  guess  who  it  is  the  Government  has  hon- 
ored us  with.  Just  guess!"  And  he  held 
the  newspaper  behind  his  back. 

"Dr.  Prahl!"  suggested  several,  and  a  stout 
man  with  a  sandy  beard  and  spectacles,  sit- 
ting at  one  of  the  tables,  rose  and  stood  with 
glass  in  one  hand  and  newspaper  in  the  other. 
It  was  Dr.  Prahl,  the  district-physician. 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head,  and  looked  at 
the  paper  through  his  glasses. 

"Dr.  Kemp  then?"  was  suggested  in  various 
parts  of  the  room. 

He  was  present,  too,  however,  standing  by 
the  wall,  with  an  attempt  at  a  smile  on  his 
pale,  clean-shaven  face. 

"Oh,  dear  no,  good  people!    The  doctors  in 


108  The  Face  of  the  World 

our  toTVTi  don't  speculate  either  in  the  friend- 
ship of  working-men  or  in  total  abstinence. 
No,  we're  going  to  have  a  famous  man  this 
time.    It's  Dr.  Harold  Mark!'* 

"Konsense!"  exclaimed  the  district-physi- 
cian, coming  nearer. 

"You're  only  humbugging!"  said  Dr. 
Kemp,  still  trying  to  smile. 

"It  surely  isn't  the  man  who  was  recently 
sentenced  to  hard  labor?"  asked  Consul 
Wahl,  approaching  from  one  of  the  tables. 

"You  are  in  error,  sir !"  said  Gundahl.  "He 
should  have  been  sentenced  to  hard  labor,  but 
the  authorities  decided  to  aggravate  the  pun- 
ishment, and  are  sending  him  here  instead. 
He's  in  too  bad  odor  out  there,  but  he's  good 
enough  for  here!" 

"It's  surely  impossible  for  him  to  get  a 
post  so  immediately  after  that  scandalous  law- 
suit!" said  several. 

"It's  in  the  paper,'*  said  the  lawyer. 

Heads  were  crowded  together  over  the  pa- 
per.   Yes,  positively  it  was ! 

"How  does  the  Government  dare!" 


The  Face  of  the  World  109 

*' We're  to  put  up  with  this  I" 

There  was  a  buzz  of  voices  in  the  room ;  the 
excitement  increased  and  clenched  fists  were 
raised.  Once  more  the  Government  had  re- 
warded a  radical  with  one  of  the  best  posts  ia 
the  country. 

The  editor  of  the  Evening  Paper,  a  small, 
pale  man,  had  come  in,  and  now  suddenly  got 
up  on  a  chair. 

"I  sayl  I  suggest  that  we  telegraph  a  pro- 
test." 

"We?    Who?    The  club?" 

"The  chairman  of  the  Citizens'  Union  is 
here.  He  ought  to  do  it,  and  the  rest  of  us — 
we — I  suppose  we  can  subscribe  to  it,  too,'* 
said  the  editor,  with  a  glance  at  Consul  Wahl. 

"The  whole  town  protests.  We  sign  in  the 
name  of  the  whole  town!"  answered  the  con- 
sul, nodding  and  gesticulating,  his  face  flushed 
with  excitement. 

At  that  moment  a  quiet  voice  was  heard 
near  the  window.  It  was  Halvorsen,  a  gray- 
haired  merchant,  who  was  at  last  able  to  make 
himself  heard. 


110  The  Face  of  the  World 

"But,"  he  said,  "isn't  Dr.  Mark  considered 
to  be  a  clever  doctor?" 

There  was  a  pause. 

"And  what  if  he  is?"  said  the  editor,  who 
was  still  standing  upon  the  chair. 

"Well,  I  thought  that  was  the  main  point," 
replied  Halvorsen. 

The  next  moment  all  eyes  were  turned  to 
Dr.  Prahl,  who  felt  that  he  ought  to  say  some- 
thing. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  what  he  is!"  he  said. 
"But  does  any  one  here  believe  that  that's  the 
reason  why  he  gets  it  over  the  heads  of  the 
fifteen  other  candidates  that  are  older  than 
he?" 

The  editor  looked  round.  "I  should  just 
like  to  mention,"  he  said,  "that  both  the  tem- 
perance people  and  the  socialists  are  getting 
ready  to  meet  him  at  the  quay." 

"Then  that'll  save  the  rest  of  us  from  hav- 
ing to  do  it,"  said  Dr.  Kemp,  biting  his  lip  as 
he  slipped  out  of  the  room. 

"We  shall  have  the  municipal  elections  in 
the  autumn,"  the  editor  continued,  "and  now 


The  Face  of  the  World  111 

the  socialists  will  have  a  leader  who  is  accus- 
tomed to  pay  suit  to  low  instincts.  I  think  I 
can  prophesy  that  things  will  be  quite  changed 
here,  and  the  question  is  whether  there  isn't 
still  time  to  avert  the  calamity  if  we  act  im- 
mediately." 

"We'll  telegraph!"  cried  several  voices. 
"Here's  paper  and  pen!"  And  the  buzzing 
began  again  worse  than  before. 

The  next  day  the  town  had  something  to 
talk  about.  The  socialist  paper  stated  that  the 
total  abstinence  and  labor  parties  had  also 
sent  a  telegram  to  the  Government  on  this 
subject,  so  that  people  in  the  capital  should 
not  mistake  five  or  six  club-members,  a  little 
the  worse  for  drink,  for  the  town  itself. 

There  was  only  a  couple  of  weeks  to  the 
time  when  the  new  doctor  was  to  enter  on  his 
duties,  and  in  the  meantime  the  town  talked 
itself  into  a  state  of  ever  greater  excitement. 
One  large  section  considered  this  appointment 
to  be  an  insult  to  the  town;  others — ^his  party 
friends — ^looked  upon  the  doctor  as  a  martyr. 


112  The  Face  of  the  World 

and  were  beginning  to  make  arrangements  for 
singing  and  flowers. 

No  one  in  the  town  could  say  that  he  was 
personally  acquainted  with  Harold  Mark. 
He  had  made  short  holiday  visits,  when  mother 
and  son  generally  went  away  together  to  the 
sea  or  to  the  mountains;  but  a  few  of  his 
opinions  were  known,  and  people  formed  their 
idea  of  him  from  what  they  read  in  the  papers 
with  additions  from  their  own  imagination,  un- 
til at  last  it  seemed  to  most  of  them  that  they 
had  really  known  him  well  for  many  years. 

In  the  lengthening  spring  evenings,  Fru 
Mark  was  now  often  seen  on  her  knees  in  her 
little  garden  tending  her  flowers.  The  house 
was  repainted,  too,  and  shone  whiter  than  ever. 
"She's  making  everything  look  nice  for  his 
coming" — people  said  as  they  passed. 

One  Sunday  evening  in  the  middle  of  May 
the  large  Bergen  steamer  was  making  her  way 
into  the  bay.  The  whole  town  was  on  the 
quay,  a  white  straw  hat  or  a  red  sunshade 
showing  here  and  there  above  the  dense  wall 
of  people. 


The  Face  of  the  World  113 

"Here  comes  Fru  Mark  driving!"  said  some 
one  in  the  crowd,  and  people  tried  to  squeeze 
up  and  make  room.  The  brown  horse 
ploughed  its  way  slowly  into  the  mass  of  hu- 
man beings.  The  white-haired  woman  in  the 
carriage  looked  reserved  and  cold.  Perhaps 
she  was  afraid  of  what  might  happen  when 
her  son  stepped  on  shore. 

Nearer  the  warehouses  stood  the  schoolmas- 
ter, Brede,  with  the  labor  union  under  their 
banner;  and  the  red-bearded  .man  dashed 
hither  and  thither,  perspiring  with  zeal.  "Off 
with  you,  youngsters!"  he  cried  as  he  took  off 
his  silk  hat  with  a  flourish  to  Fru  Mark.  He 
then  darted  lightning  glances  over  the  well- 
dressed  crowd.  He  was  going  to  see  to  the 
whole  arrangement,  the  women  and  the  men, 
the  cheers  and  the  singing,  and,  in  addition, 
make  a  speech  himself;  so  it  was  not  much, 
wonder  that  he  was  running  hither  and  thither. 
It  was  easy  enough  for  Holmsen,  the  customs 
officer,  who  was  standing  near  with  the  total 
abstinence  people.    He  could  stand  about  with 


114  The  Face  of  the  World 

nothing  to  do  but  watch  the  steamer  come  in, 
and  join  in  the  cheering. 

The  vessel  lay  to.  A  band  was  playing  on 
board.  The  gangway  was  raised,  and  people 
began  to  stream  ashore.  All  eyes  were  look- 
ing for  one  particular  passenger,  but  where 
was  he?  The  gangway  was  dropped  again, 
and  the  steamer  moved  from  the  quay.  The 
schoolmaster  and  the  customs  officer  looked 
across  at  one  another  open-mouthed.  What 
had  become  of  the  doctor? 

"I  know  nothing!"  said  Fru  Mark,  making 
the  horse  back  and  turn.  "He  may  have  been 
delayed  in  Bergen." 

Disappointed  and  crestfallen,  the  crowd 
went  home  again.  When  Fru  Mark  arrived 
at  her  house,  she  found  a  motor-car  standing 
at  the  door,  and  a  man  with  a  fair  beard  was 
in  the  act  of  paying  the  chauffeur.  It  was 
Harold. 

"Good  morning,  mother!  Have  you  bought 
yourself  a  horse?"  he  asked,  as  he  came  and 
helped  her  out  of  the  carriage. 


The  Face  of  the  World  115 

"My  dear,  where  have  you  come  from?"  she 
stammered,  letting  him  kiss  her. 

"Well,  you  see,  I  heard  a  rumor  that  a 
crows'  parliament  was  being  held  over  my  re- 
mains, so  I  went  ashore  at  Taraldsund  and 
came  by  road.  Thank  goodness!  I'm  here  at 
last!"  he  exclaimed,  taking  off  his  hat  and 
looking  about  him. 

"Good  Lord,  what's  that  hideous  thing 
you've  put  up  there?"  he  asked,  as  his  gaze 
fell  upon  a  large,  brown,  brick  building  that 
rose  above  the  cluster  of  houses.  "What  is 
it?" 

"That's  the  parish  school,'*  said  his  mother, 
looking  at  him  anxiously. 

"I  hope  you  haven't  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  building  of  that  frightful  thing,  mother?" 

"No,  I  wasn't  the  architect,"  she  said.  "But 
let's  go  in.  The  maid  can  carry  up  your 
things." 

"And  what's  that  out  by  the  bay?"  he  ques- 
tioned further,  as  he  looked  at  a  large,  yellow, 
wooden  building  at  the  other  end  of  the  town. 

"That's  the  new  hospital." 


116  The  Face  of  the  World 

"My  hospital?" 

"I  suppose  we  may  call  it  so,"  she  said  with 
a  smile.  "Hadn't  they  begun  to  build  it  when 
you  were  here  last?" 

"Built  of  wood — in  these  days!  That  was 
foolish!" 

He  took  his  large  portmanteau  and  followed 
his  mother  through  the  garden  gate  and  up  the 
steps  to  the  white  house  on  the  rock.  He  was 
soon  wandering  about  the  small  rooms,  which 
seemed  filled  with  the  scent  of  the  sea.  It  was 
all  so  open  and  full  of  light.  A  peculiar  feel- 
ing of  comfort  overwhelmed  him  now  that  he 
was  once  more  under  his  mother's  roof.  How 
long  it  was  since  he  had  been  with  any  one 
who  was  bound  to  him  by  any  tie! 

"Welcome  home,  my  dear  boy!"  said  his 
mother,  as  she  went  and  laid  her  hands  upon 
his  shoulders. 

"Thank  you,  mother,  thank  you!"  he  said; 
and  they  stood  thus  for  a  moment,  his  smile 
answering  hers  as  their  eyes  met.  These  two, 
who  for  so  many  years  had  talked  together 


The  Face  of  the  World  117 

only  in  letters,  were  now  standing  so  close 
that  they  could  hear  one  another  breathe. 

"You're  actually  beginning  to  get  gray 
hairs!"  she  said,  pulling  his  beard  a  little. 

"So  are  you,  mother!" 

"What  nonsense!  Why,  I'm  old!  .  .  .  But 
come  upstairs  and  let  me  see  whether  you're 
satisfied  with  your  two  rooms." 

The  stairs  creaked  under  their  feet.  The 
elderly,  red-haired  maid  was  already  up  there, 
and  had  placed  his  trunks  on  two  chairs. 
"Why,  isn't  that  Lisbeth?"  he  exclaimed. 
"Good  day,  Lisbeth!     So  you're  still  here?"* 

"Good  day,  sir!"  said  Lisbeth,  flushing,  as 
he  shook  hands  with  her. 

When  she  had  gone,  the  mother  and  son 
were  alone  again.  He  was  standing  at  the 
open  window  in  the  bedroom,  looking  out. 
The  bay  lay  like  a  mirror,  and  reflected  the 
mountains  and  farms  on  the  other  side.  A 
waterfall  hung  like  a  silver  thread  from  the 
top  of  a  precipice,  and  at  last  splashed  into 
the   sea.     The  fruit-trees  were  loaded  with 


118  The  Face  of  the  World 

blossom.  It  was  wonderful  to  breathe  this  air, 
and  he  drew  deep  breaths. 

"And  I  am  here  now!"  he  thought.  "I  am 
always  thinking  I've  taken  root  in  some  firm 
thing,  now  in  a  great  passion,  now  in  a  great 
work;  but  the  roots  are  always  pulled  up. 
How  will  it  be  now?" 

It  was  beautiful  out  there,  but  he  looked 
at  it  without  seeing  it,  because  a  multitude  of 
images  flitted  through  his  mind  and  drew  a 
veil  between  him  and  the  objects  on  which  his 
eyes  rested.  He  must  learn  now  to  tear  this 
veil  asunder. 

"How  are  you  now?"  said  his  mother,  com- 
ing up  and  taking  his  arm. 

He  turned  towards  her.  "I?"  he  said.  "Oh, 
grand !  And  how  are  you  ?  I'm  so  glad  to  see 
you  looking  so  well,"  he  added,  patting  her 
cheek. 

"Do  you  think  this  bed  will  do  for  you?" 

He  could  not  help  laughing.  As  if  it  mat- 
tered in  the  least  whether  he  lay  on  a  hard 
or  a  soft  bed! 

"I  say,  mother — about  that  stupid  letter  I 


The  Face  of  the  World  119 

wrote  you.  You  must  promise  me  you  won't 
think  any  more  about  it." 

She  had  sat  down  and  was  drawing  her  fore- 
finger over  the  surface  of  a  white  table,  on 
which  stood  a  brass  candlestick. 

"That  letter  was  really  one  long  accusation 
against  me,"  she  said,  avoiding  his  eye. 

"What?    Against  you?" 

She  nodded.  "It's  I,  of  course,  who  am  re- 
sponsible for  your  life  taking  such  a  direction. 
And  there's  little  comfort  in  the  thought  that 
I  meant  well." 

"Now,  mother,  we  two  are  only  going  to 
think  of  how  happy  and  jolly  we  shall  be  to- 
gether now.  Tell  me — do  they  dance  much 
here?" 

She  stared  in  astonishment.  "What? 
Dance?" 

"Yes,  of  course!  There  must  be  young 
people  here  who  do  something  more  sensible 
than  shout  hurrah  for  stupid  prophets.  I 
shall  foimd  a  dancing-club,  if  there  isn't  one 
already.    I  have  some  fun  to  the  good  that  I 


120  The  Face  of  the  World 

must  make  up  for."  And  he  whistled  as  he 
swung  round  on  the  floor. 

"How  forced  it  all  sounds!"  thought  his 
mother,  not  daring  to  look  at  him.  He  had 
gone  to  the  window  again,  and  stood  looking 
out  and  humming. 

"There's  one  thing  I  should  like  to  know," 
she  said  at  last.  "Do  you  never  hear  from 
— from  Paris?" 

He  looked  at  her  and  smiled,  but  then 
passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead  and  bowed 
his  head. 

"No,"  he  said;  "but  I  know  they  still  live 
in  Paris." 

"They?    Whom  do  you  mean?" 

"Thora  and  her  husband.  She — she's  mar- 
ried a  French  artist  now." 

His  mother's  mouth  grew  hard.  There  was 
a  pause. 

"She  must  not  be  blamed  for  it  at  any  rate," 
he  said,  raising  his  head.  "The  fault  was  mine. 
If  a  man  can't  be  what  a  young,  light-hearted 
girl  has  the  right  to  expect  him  to  be,  he 
shouldn't  marry." 


The  Face  of  the  World  121 

There  was  another  pause,  and  then  his 
mother  said:  "Why  did  you  apply  to  come 
here,  Harold?" 

"Why?  Why,  mother  dear,  I'd  made  my- 
self quite  impossible  down  there!" 

"Oh,  nonsense !  You're  not  a  coward.  You 
wouldn't  run  away." 

"No,  I  suppose  I  shouldn't,"  he  said  in  a 
low  voice,  turning  to  the  window.  "But  I 
needed  to  look  out  upon  different  surround- 
inp^s.  There  are  a  few  things  that  I  must  try 
and  understand  now.  So  many  of  my  ideals 
have  been  shattered,  and  I  don't  know  how 
I'm  to  put  them  together  again.  But  we  won't 
talk  any  more  about  that,"  he  said,  in  a  dif- 
ferent tone,  turning  to  her. 

They  went  down,  and  had  only  been  in  the 
sitting-room  a  moment  when  a  dark,  slender 
woman,  dressed  in  a  brown  velvet  dress  with  a 
white  lace  collar  over  her  shoulders,  entered 
the  room.  Her  pale,  oval  face  was  framed 
by  dark  hair,  which  was  gathered  into  a  knot 
at  the  back  of  her  head.  Her  eyes  were  large 
and  dark,  with  luminous  depths.    Round  her 


122  The  Face  of  the  World 

neck  she  wore  a  band  of  brown  velvet,  from 
which  hung  a  gold  locket.  She  might  have 
been  thirty  or  even  forty,  but  any  one  looking 
at  her  did  not  think  about  her  age,  but  only 
that  there  was  an  individuality  about  her,  and 
that  she  was  beautiful. 

"This  is  Alma  Kahrs,"  said  Fru  Mark,  in- 
troducing her.  "She  is  senior  sister  at  your  hos- 
pital, but  latterly  she  has  lived  here  with  me." 

Harold  looked  surprised.  "I  thought  a 
senior  sister  lived  in  the  hospital,"  he  said, 
smiling. 

"No,  there  is  so  little  room  to  spare  there," 
she  replied,  "and  besides  there's  another  senior 
sister  who  lives  there.  But  if  the  new  senior 
physician  requires  me  to  move  out  there  at 
once,  there's  no  help  for  it!"  she  added  rather 
roguishly. 

"Well,  we  can  see  about  that  when  I've 
looked  into  things  a  little,"  he  said,  shaking 
hands  with  her. 

"I  suppose  I'd  better  make  the  tea,"  she 
said,  and  left  the  room.  When  she  was  gone, 
Fru  Mark  explained  that  Sister  Alma's  father 


The  Face  of  the  World  123 

had  been  the  greatest  wholesale  fish-merchant 
in  the  town,  and  had  gone  bankrupt  two  or 
three  years  ago.  At  that  time  she  had  been 
engaged  to  a  lawyer,  who,  when  she  became  a 
poor  girl,  immediately  broke  off  the  engage- 
ment. 

"And  so  she  took  to  sick-nursing,"  said 
Harold,  raising  his  eyebrows. 

"Yes,  poor  thing.  And  now  she  is  pretty 
well  over  it.  I'm  sure  you'll  appreciate  and 
like  her." 

"It's  of  rery  little  consequence  whom  I 
like,  mother."  His  first  thought  on  seeing 
Sister  Alma  had  been:  "She's  some  one  moth- 
er's got  hold  of  to  console  me.    Poor  mother!" 

It  was  a  dainty  little  supper-table  that 
awaited  them.  Harold  was  accustomed  to  the 
bad  management  of  his  elderly  servant,  and 
to  have  his  meals  alone.  Here  the  cloth  was 
so  white,  the  cups  and  plates  so  pretty,  there 
were  flowers  from  the  garden,  and  everything 
was  so  bright  and  cheerful.  The  evening  sun 
filled  the  room  with  golden  light  and  shadows, 
and  through  the  open  window  came  the  cry  of 


124  The  Face  of  the  World 

the  gulls.  Harold  ate  quickly  and  told  amus- 
ing stories,  but  laughed  so  loudly  that  his 
mother  often  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 
How  he  had  changed ! 

*'I  suppose  you're  looking  forward  to  start- 
ing work  at  your  new  post,  Dr.  Mark?"  said 
Sister  Alma. 

"Looking  forward?"  he  said  slowly,  putting 
down  his  cup. 

"Yes,  for  a  doctor  can  do  such  a  tremendous 
amount  of  good." 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  sister, — a  doctor  oughtn't 
to  set  about  saving  the  life  of  a  single  smith 
or  tailor;  for  even  if  he  gets  well  today,  he's 
bound  to  die  tomorrow.  What  good  has  the 
doctor  done  then?  Now  if  he  could  get  the 
better  of  a  disease,  so  that  it  never  appeared 
again,  it  would  be  a  different  matter.  But 
you  know  quite  well  that  if  we  drive  it  out  of 
Tom  today,  it  breaks  out  in  Dick  tomorrow, 
or  in  a  million  other  people  all  over  the  world. 
Have  we  doctors  then  really  done  anything 
worth  bragging  about?" 

"But,  dear  me!  looked  at  in  that  way,  every- 


The  Face  of  the  World  125 

thing  becomes  pretty  hopeless!"  said  Sister 
Alma,  looking  earnestly  at  him. 

"And  so  it  is!"  he  replied,  laughing. 
"Everything  is  really  hopeless." 

"Oh,  don't  listen  to  him!"  said  his  mother. 
"He  doesn't  mean  it." 

"Yes,  I  think  that  we  doctors  must  do  the 
same  as  you  others,  namely,  take  care  to  be  so 
busy  that  you  haven't  time  to  think.  .  .  .  But 
I  say,  mother,  won't  you  really  celebrate  your 
son's  homecoming  with  a  glass  of  wine?" 

Both  women  looked  at  him  in  astonishment, 
and  finally  smiled. 

"You're  a  nice  total  abstainer!"  said  his 
mother  at  last. 

"It's  a  good  thing  you  reminded  me  of  it, 
mother!"  he  replied.  "Fancy,  sister!  there's  a 
religious  sect  here  that  maintains  that  it's  bet- 
ter to  ruin  your  stomach  and  nerves  with  cof- 
fee than  rejoice  your  heart  with  a  glass  of 
white  wine.  And  do  you  know  who  was  the 
archbishop  of  that  religious  community  for  a 
couple  of  years  in  this  country?  Well,  it 
was  II" 


126  The  Face  of  the  World 

Again  the  two  women  looked  at  one  another 
and  tried  to  laugh. 

As  he  handed  in  his  cup  for  his  mother  to 
fill,  he  went  on:  "Isn't  it  strange,  sister,  that 
some  of  us  should  be  bom  to  be  charwomen?" 

"Bom  to  be  what?" 

"To  be  charwomen,"  he  said,  putting  sugar 
into  his  tea,  "We  go  about  with  a  pail  and 
try  to  wash  away  the  dirt  that  others  have 
made.  That's  called  working  for  progress. 
But  if  the  charwoman  has  scrubbed  it  all  clean 
today,  it'll  be  just  as  bad  again  tomorrow, 
while  she,  poor  thing,  thought  the  floors  would 
lie  there  spotless  for  hundreds  of  years." 

Fru  Mark  bent  her  head  over  her  plate. 
This  had  quite  ceased  to  be  amusing. 

After  supper  it  came  to  light  that  Sister 
Alma  could  play,  and  Harold  went  to  the 
piano,  selected  some  music,  and  saw  her  seated 
on  the  music-stool.  Fru  Mark  sat  on  the  sofa, 
looking  before  her  with  her  hands  in  her  lap ; 
but  was  it  the  music  she  was  listening  to? 

The  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  light- 
ing up  the  room  and  shining  on  the  old  ma- 


The  Face  of  the  World  127 

hogany  sofa  and  on  Fru  Mark's  long,  blue- 
veined  hands;  but  her  face  was  in  shadow. 
She  looked  at  the  two  over  by  the  window. 
Harold  was  leaning  against  the  piano,  looking 
still  so  broad-shouldered  and  handsome,  and 
the  color  of  his  blue  serge  suit  harmonising 
well  with  his  companion's  brown  velvet. 
What  was  she  playing?  Fru  Mark  only  saw 
that  as  Harold  bent  forward,  his  fair  hair  was 
touched  by  a  golden  ray  from  the  sun ;  and  at 
the  same  time  she  thought  of  his  lacerated 
mind. 

And  she  thought  she  had  done  some  good 
in  the  world  I  Had  he  now  come  as  her  j  udge  ? 
How  would  it  all  end? 


IX 

Harold  had  said  good-night  to  the  ladies, 
and  now,  putting  on  a  light  overcoat,  and  tak- 
ing the  latchkey  with  him,  he  went  out.  He 
wanted  a  walk  alone  before  he  went  to  bed. 

He  went  along  the  road  by  the  shore  and  its 
continuation  inland.  It  was  nearly  midnight, 
and  the  mountains  and  the  bay  lay  in  a  bluish 
darkness,  through  which  shone  the  red  and 
green  harbor-lights.  A  gentle  breeze  had 
sprung  up  on  the  water,  and  little  waves  kept 
breaking  on  the  shore — a  monotonous  and 
melancholy  nocturnal  melody,  repeated  over 
and  over  again  interminably.  The  town  was 
asleep,  and  most  of  the  lights  in  the  bay  were 
extinguished. 

Harold  sat  down  on  a  stone  by  the  wayside, 
lighted  a  cigar,  and  rested  both  hands  on  the 
handle  of  his  stick.  What  had  been  his  in- 
tention in  coming  here?  His  mother  might 
well  ask.     No,  it  was  not  only  to  get  away 

128 


The  Face  of  the  World  129 

from  the  sight  of  enemies  at  every  corner,  or 
to  escape  the  sympathy  of  stupid  members  of 
his  own  party.  That  was  not  the  reason.  He 
must  have  hoped  to  find  an  out-of-the-way 
place  where  the  world  might  be  smaller.  He 
knew  his  disease  now,  for  this  feeling,  that 
all  misfortuneis  all  the  wide  world  over  con- 
cerned him,  was  a  disease;  this  huge  world- 
responsibility,  the  weal  and  woe  of  mankind, 
was  a  disease.  It  must  be  shaken  off.  "This 
ubiquitousness  in  my  thoughts" — ^he  said  to 
himself — "so  that  I  cannot  concentrate  on 
anything  close  at  hand,  is  sheer  idiocy.  I  once 
thought  of  serving  my  time  and  becoming  free, 
and  now  the  time  has  come.  I  am  free,  and 
I  must  use  my  freedom  and  become  young 
and  happy  again.  There  are  beautiful  dis- 
tricts in  Norway  where  I  can  go  and  drink  in 
the  beauty,  and  let  it  live  in  my  mind.  And 
no  newspaper-reading!  The  papers  report 
only  catastrophes;  they  overfeed  us  with  sad 
things.  Our  power  of  feeling  pleasure  will 
soon  become  a  rudimentary  organ.  Millions 
of  people  are  healthy  and  happy,  and  don't 


180  The  Face  of  the  World 

care  a  hang  for  social  defects  and  progress. 
Learn  to  know  some  of  them" — ^he  exhorted 
himself.  "In  that  way  you  can  re-form  your 
picture  of  the  world.  It's  not  so  hloody  and 
dirty  as  you've  been  imagining.  You've  only 
seen  the  ink  that  the  newspapers  use,  and 
there's  a  face  behind  it  that's  beautiful  and 
healthy.  Try  to  get  in  to  it!  That's  where 
you  have  to  get!  That's  where  you  have  to 
get!" 

He  looked  out  through  the  blue-gray  dark- 
ness which  seemed  to  be  a  mixture  of  dusk  and 
dawn.  On  the  sea-horizon  there  was  a  streak 
of  red  in  the  sky.  Harold  looked  at  it,  and 
at  the  mountains  and  the  sea;  but  he  still  felt 
that  he  could  not  quite  take  it  in,  because 
irrelevant  thoughts  once  more  drew  a  veil 
across  his  eyes. 

He  went  on  at  a  quick  pace.  Suddenly  he 
heard  a  peculiar  sound,  and  stopped.  Yes,  it 
was  dance-music — a  concertina.  He  went  on, 
and,  rounding  a  little  headland,  he  found  him- 
self by  a  -small  pilot-boat  harbor,  where  a 
number  of  young  people  were  dancing  on  the 


The  Face  of  the  World  131 

grass  and  the  road,  in  front  of  a  white  house. 
He  could  see  light  dresses  in  the  half-dark- 
ness. 

The  player,  a  young  sailor  with  his  cap  on 
the  back  of  his  head,  was  sitting  on  a  stone 
and  had  his  pipe  in  one  comer  of  his  mouth. 
Harold  gave  them  the  usual  greeting  and  re- 
membered that  he  himself  was  only  thirty- 
eight.  He  then  went  among  them  and  said 
who  he  was,  offered  cigars  to  the  boys,  and 
begged  them  to  go  on  with  the  fun.  Perhaps 
he  might  be  allowed  to  dance,  too? 

The  concertina  stopped  for  a  moment,  and 
they  aU  looked  at  him.  One  or  two  of  the 
girls  said  quietly  that  they  must  be  going 
home,  but  after  all  the  party  did  not  break 
up,  and  the  concertina  began  again.  Harold 
went  up  to  a  girl  in  a  light  dress  and  straw 
hat,  and  asked  for  a  dance,  and  drawing  her 
to  him  began  to  dance;  and  in  a  little  while 
they  were  all  dancing. 

Ah,  it  was  long  since  he  had  had  his  arm 
round  a  girl's  waist,  or  felt  a  girl's  breath 
against  his  cheek!    It  made  him  so  dehght- 


132  The  Face  of  the  World 

fully  giddy,  and  he  stopped  for  a  moment  to 
throw  off  his  overcoat. 

*'You  dance  splendidly,"  he  said.  "What's 
your  name?" 

"Petra." 

"And  is  your  father  a  fisherman  out  here?" 

"No,  he's  a  pilot." 

A  light  was  still  burning  in  a  white  house 
where  there  was  a  kind  of  cafe,  and  it  ended 
by  Harold  asking  them  all  in  and  treating 
them  to  coffee  and  cakes. 

It  was  two  o'clock,  and  daylight  was  al- 
ready beginning  to  appear,  and  the  snow  on 
the  mountains  to  be  tinged  with  gold.  Harold 
told  stories  and  made  them  all  laugh;  and 
finally  they  went  out  again,  and  had  one  more 
dance  on  the  grass. 

It  was  not  until  four  o'clock  that  Harold 
turned  back  towards  the  town,  and  as  he  went 
he  could  not  help  laughing  now  and  then. 

"Her  name  was  Petra,  and  she  had  black 
hair,  and  looked  at  me  out  of  the  corner  of 
her  eye,"  he  said  to  himself;  "but  I  didn't 
manage  to  see  her  home.    Old  fool!    Are  you 


The  Face  of  the  World  133 

beginning  to  shuffle  along  in  the  rear-guard? 
Well,  one  may  be  as  good  as  another.  Petra ! 
Twenty!"  He  stopped,  pushed  back  his  hat, 
and  looked  aimlessly  for  the  sun,  as  if  they 
two  ought  to  be  joining  company;  but  as  yet 
only  the  snowy  peaks  were  aflame,  the  clouds 
were  golden,  and  the  bay  lay  once  more  re- 
flecting a  rosy  sky,  blue  mountains  and  green 
shore,  while  the  flocks  of  white  gulls  under 
the  land  lay  rocking  in  the  blue  shadows. 

Harold  leaned  upon  his  stick  and  tried  to 
take  it  all  in,  to  forget  the  unsuccessful  rising 
in  Barcelona,  and  to  look  at  the  morning,  and 
only  that,  and  to  think,  for  instance,  of  young 
Petra.  There  must  be  pretty  girls  in  the 
town.  A  boat  on  the  bay  some  June  evening, 
she  and  he,  she  and  he,  rocking  on  the  tiny 
waves,  and  perhaps  going  out  to  an  island. 
Would  that  happen  to  him,  he  wondered? 
One  thing  was  necessary — ^to  make  his  horizon 
small,  to  turn  down  the  light  in  those  regions 
of  his  consciousness  that  did  not  concern  him, 
to  sleep,  to  let  his  mind  sleep.  The  more 
wide-awake  and  far-seeing  he  was,  the  sooner 


134  The  Face  of  the  World 

would  his  hair  turn  gray,  and  his  laughter  die 
away.  He  ought  to  make  his  surrounding 
world  small.  His  mother  was  wise.  She  im- 
proved the  parish  schools  in  the  town,  and  be- 
lieved that  mankind  had  thereby  made  a  great 
step  forward.  That  was  wisdom.  His  mother 
kept  her  good  looks.  All  honor  to  the  happy 
people  with  a  small  horizon,  with  blinds  down 
towards  the  world  and  the  great  sea,  and  the 
windows  open  to  a  tiny  garden.  That  is 
where  he  must  go!  Ah!  how  beautiful  it  was 
here!    He  would  be  at  peace  here! 

A  feeling  of  sincere  humility  filled  his  mind. 
Many  things  that  he  had  overlooked  for  years 
now  came  and  presented  themselves.  A  pair 
of  early  starlings  were  running  about,  busy 
over  their  new  nest-building.  "Those  are  star- 
lings," he  said  aloud.  And  was  not  that  a 
lark  he  heard  right  over  his  head?  He  whis- 
tled up  into  the  air.  Then  he  noticed  that  the 
grass  running  down  to  the  water  was  yellow 
with  the  flowers  of  the  rock-rose.  The  meadow 
was  covered  with  dew  and  bathed  in  the  rosy 
light.    He  picked  a  dandelion  from  the  way- 


The  Face  of  the  World  135 

side.  "You  hardy  brigand!"  he  said,  "that  all 
the  world  is  in  pursuit  of — ^you  are  a  little  sun 
on  earth  aU  the  same.  You  shall  sit  in  my 
buttonhole.    And  now  we'll  go  I" 

He  slept  with  his  window  open.  Peace, 
peace!  He  lay  between  his  mother's  sheets, 
and  felt  in  his  whole  body  that  they  were 
clean  and  nice.  Through  the  open  window 
came  the  sound  of  the  waves  breaking  upon 
the  beach  or  against  the  ships  in  the  harbor. 
The  blind  blew  out  into  the  room.  He  was 
aware  of  it  all,  but  only  turned  over  and  went 
on  sleeping.  The  room  became  filled  with 
golden  hght,  with  full,  flaming  dayhght;  but 
be  had  not  to  go  anywhere;  he  was  free,  and 
he  slept  on  and  on. 

At  last  he  felt  there  was  some  one  in  the 
room.  Must  he  go  to  another  patient?  He 
started  up,  but  it  was  only  the  maid  with  a 
large  coffee-tray, 

"Goodness,  Lisbeth!  is  anything  the  mat- 
ter?" 

"No,  sir;  but  I  was  to  say  from  the  mistress 
that  she  had  to  go  down  to  the  school,  as  the 


186  The  Face  of  the  World 

examinations  are  on,  but  she  would  be  back 
by  one  o'clock." 

"And  what  time  is  it  now?" 

"Oh,  it's  scarcely  more  than  twelve  now." 

"Oh,  dear!  and  I  meant  to  go  on  sleeping 
for  hours!    Thanks,  Lisbeth,  all  the  same." 

He  still  lay  for  a  little  while  outstretched 
with  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  head,  in  a 
feeling  of  utter  well-being.  Thank  goodness! 
there  were  still  three  days  before  he  was  to 
enter  on  his  duties.  For  three  mornings  he 
could  wake  with  the  feeling  that  every  hour 
of  the  day  was  his  own.  For  the  moment  it 
seemed  like  a  great  event;  he  was  so  comfort- 
able now!  Everything  in  the  room  looked  at 
him  in  a  friendly  way,  and  seemed  to  welcome 
him  home.  There  were  flowers  from  his  moth- 
er's garden  in  a  vase  on  the  table,  and  this 
afternoon  he  and  she  could  go  for  a  long  walk, 
and  talk  as  they  used  to  do  in  old  days.  No 
patients,  no  societies  to  trouble  about!  Free! 
Gentle  forces  seemed  to  enter  his  mind.  He 
no  longer  trembled  with  the  continual  ham- 
mering of  the  surrounding  world  upon  it;  he 


The  Face  of  the  World  137 

was  just  himself.  And  he  looked  down  into 
this  self,  and  it  was  like  a  little  edifice  filled 
with  the  sound  of  soft  bells.  Yes,  this  was 
himself.  There  was  a  little  chapel  deep  down 
in  his  being,  which  had  hitherto  been  hidden 
by  dust-clouds  from  the  noisy,  every-day 
world;  but  now  he  could  see  it.  The  Easter 
bells  were  ringing  down  there.  After  all, 
there  was  something  divine  in  him,  too,  and  it 
only  needed  quiet  to  unfold  freely.  Yes,  this 
was  himself  I    This  was  himself! 

Ah,  how  good  it  was  to  be  alive! 

When  he  came  downstairs,  the  rooms  were 
filled  with  sunshine,  and  yet — what  was  the 
matter?  He  stood  looking  at  the  breakfast- 
table;  it  seemed  to  him  something  was  want- 
ing. He  sat  down,  and  everything  tasted  de- 
licious; but — what  was  the  matter?  Ah,  it 
was  the  morning  papers!  Nonsense!  What 
did  he  care  about  them?  But  after  breakfast, 
when  he  had  lighted  his  pipe,  he  nevertheless 
went  out  into  the  kitchen  for  them.  Lisbeth 
told  him  that  the  papers  came  out  in  the  eve- 
ning here.    Oh,  hang  it!    He  began  to  walk 


138  The  Face  of  the  World 

up  and  down  the  room,  and  laughed  at  him- 
self; and  yet  he  felt  there  was  something 
wanting.  It  was  as  though  a  great  part  of 
him  had  had  no  breakfast.  He  noticed  a  pe- 
culiar hunger  to  know  what  had  happened 
during  the  last  few  days  all  over  the  world. 
The  beautiful  life  that  he  had  felt  awaken  in 
him  a  little  while  ago,  was  in  a  moment  eaten 
up,  as  it  were,  by  another  being  that  was  also 
himself.  He  went  out,  put  on  his  hat  and  coat, 
and  sauntered  out  again  along  the  road  by 
the  bay;  but  this  time  he  saw  nothing  of  the 
scenery,  and  had  no  thought  for  the  dandelion, 
the  little  sun  upon  earth.  In  large  towns 
people  were  now  sitting  and  drinking  in  the 
immense  world-life  from  their  morning  papers. 
He  would  have  to  wait  until  the  evening,  and 
perhaps  there  wasn't  much  in  the  little  rags 
here  either.  The  post  from  the  capital  did  not 
come  in  until  tomorrow.  He  had  only  screwed 
his  restlessness  back  twenty-four  hours.  What 
would  come  tomorrow?  That  was  what  he 
would  have  to  wait  for  every  day  all  the  year 
round.    How  would  he  be  able  to  manage  it? 


The  Face  of  the  World  139 

It  was  as  if  an  enormous  wave  in  retreat- 
ing had  once  more  got  hold  of  him  and  drawn 
him  down.  "Even  if  you  hide  yourself  in  the 
innermost  corner" — it  said — "I  shall  find  you 
and  drag  you  out  again.  You  belong  to  the 
ocean ;  and  now  you  no  longer  have  any  party, 
any  rudder,  or  any  course.  You  must  drift 
hither  and  thither,  but  do  you  think  you  can 
shut  yourself  out  from  the  great  world-feel- 
ing? You?  Close  your  eyes !  Learn  to  know 
yourself!  What  are  you  in  reality?  Was  not 
all  you  felt  this  morning  only  deception?  You 
are  nothing  after  all  but  an  echo  of  the  wide 
world  I" 

Harold  drew  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes,  and 
walked  slowly  on  along  the  shore. 


Lawyer  Gundahl  was  always  busy. 
When  he  came  bustling  along  with  his  port- 
folio under  his  arm,  he  looked  as  if  he  were 
going  everywhere  at  once.  It  was  not  exactly 
that  he  was  so  overwhelmed  with  work,  but 
there  was  so  much  in  his  head,  and  he  had  so 
many  people  to  speak  to,  and  so  much  that 
he  intended  to  speak  about  later  on.  He  knew 
all  the  men  in  the  little  town  so  well  that  he 
never  took  off  his  hat  to  any  of  them  except 
the  magistrate;  he  only  waved  his  hand  in 
greeting  or  farewell,  said  a  couple  of  words 
here  and  a  couple  there,  and  bustled  on,  always 
busy.  If  a  new  kind  of  shirt  appeared  in  a 
shop-window,  or  a  new  book  at  a  bookseller's, 
he  might  stop  and  adjust  his  spectacles  to  see 
what  it  was.  The  world  had  been  unjust  to 
Lawyer  Gundahl.  He  was  so  small  when  he 
was  born,  that  he  could  lie  in  a  cigar-box ;  and 
people  teased  him  by  saying  that  he  would 

140 


The  Face  of  the  World  141 

still  find  room  enough  in  a  cradle.  His  hands 
were  so  withered  that  people  shrank  from 
touching  them,  his  nose  was  flat,  and  his  eyes 
half  blind.  What  caustic  speeches  he  had  had 
to  listen  to,  and  how  much  he  had  to  revenge ! 
Women  avoided  him  wherever  he  went,  and  he 
revenged  himself  by  constantly  stopping  them 
in  the  street  to  play  the  gallant  and  talk  to 
them  of  love.  The  men  did  not  take  much 
notice  of  him  either,  although  he  was  the  only 
member  of  the  legal  profession  in  the  town 
who  had  taken  a  first  in  his  final  examination, 
and  the  only  one  who  had  been  in  Paris, 
and  who  was  something  of  a  singer.  He  was 
kept  out  of  every  kind  of  election,  and  only 
such  cases  came  to  his  office  as  his  colleagues 
shrank  from  having  anything  to  do  with. 
Well,  the  world  made  grimaces  at  Lawyer 
Gundahl,  and  once  it  had  hurt  him ;  but  now  it 
had  ceased  to  do  so,  and  he  revenged  himself 
by  making  grimaces  back.  He  had  a  lively, 
peppery  temperament,  said  smart  things  about 
his  neighbor,  and  rubbed  his  withered  hands 
in  glee  when  the  world  also  treated  others  un- 


142  The  Face  of  the  World 

kindly.  Why  not?  Every  one  is  the  better 
for  a  little  salt  and  vinegar.  Had  not  he  him- 
self suffered  from  disappointed  affection,  and 
written  poems  about  nymphs  and  princesses, 
and  dreamed  dreams  worthy  of  a  Byron?  And 
yet  it  ended  by  his  marrying  his  cook.  Well, 
his  house  was  kept  clean  and  his  money  saved ; 
but  the  woman  herself?  Beauty?  Intellect? 
Oh,  no!  but  she  drank  coffee  and  gossiped 
about  the  other  married  women,  who  imagined 
they  were  finer  than  she;  but  the  worst  of  it 
was  that  she  gradually  expanded  and  became 
a  perfect  mountain.  Lawyer  ,Gundahl  did 
not  find  all  this  very  pleasant,  but  he  put  up 
with  it,  and  his  laughter  only  became  shriller 
when  misfortune  befell  others.  Passers-by 
often  heard  scolding  in  his  house,  but  at  other 
times  the  couple  would  sit  holding  one  an- 
other's hands  and  looking  amorously  at  one 
another;  but  this  was  when  some  scandal  had 
occurred  in  the  town,  which  gave  them  the  op- 
portunity of  speaking  evil  of  some  one  else. 

On  this  occasion  Fru  Gundahl  was  sitting 
knitting  behind  her  window-plants,  while  she 


The  Face  of  the  World  143 

waited  for  her  husband  to  come  in  to  dinner. 
Her  round  face  was  red,  her  eyes  were  promi- 
nent, and  her  bosom  projected  far  beyond  her 
double  chin.  She  had  just  prepared  herself 
to  give  little  Paul  a  lecture;  for  the  night  be^ 
fore  he  had  come  home  from  the  club  in  such 
a  condition  that  there  was  no  use  in  speaking 
to  him  then. 

That  was  his  quick  little  step !  He  hung  up 
his  coat  and  hat  in  the  passage,  and  when,  as 
usual,  he  put  in  his  head  and  took  a  general 
survey  of  the  room  through  his  spectacles,  he 
caught  sight  of  his  wife,  and  exclaimed:  "My 
word,  Enima!  you  can  beheve  there's  news 
today!" 

"News?"  and  Fru  Gundahl  dropped  her 
knitting  into  her  lap,  but  gave  her  husband  a 
look  which  said :  "Don't  imagine  you'll  put  me 
oif  so  easily!" 

Gundahl  came  in,  went  into  the  dining-room 
where  his  writing-table  stood,  and  threw  down 
his  portfolio.  He  then  stood  in  the  doorway 
between  the  two  rooms,   and  compared  his 


144  The  Face  of  the  World 

watch  with  the  clock  in  the  drawing-room,  and 
finally  came  in  and  continued: 

"First  of  all  it's  the  new  doctor.  What  did 
I  say?    What  did  we  all  say?    Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

"Has  he  already  made  himself  impossible?" 
asked  Fru  Gundahl  without  much  interest. 

"I  don't  know  what  you'll  think,  but  he  was 
out  the  very  first  evening  on  the  hunt  for  girls 
out  by  the  pilot-harbor.  I  only  hope  to  good- 
ness he'll  go  on  with  it!  It's  fine!  And, 
moreover,  he's  veered  right  round  in  his  poli- 
tics. His  working-men  and  total  abstainers 
aren't  fine  enough  for  him  out  here  in  the 
west,  it  seems.  He's  refused  to  let  them  have 
a  torchlight  procession  in  his  honor.  They're 
not  even  to  go  and  give  him  a  single  cheer. 
And  now  they're  in  a  rage,  and,  by  Jove, 
they'll  be  going  some  day  and  hooting  him! 
That  sort  of  people  generally  make  short  work 
of  fallen  angels." 

"You  were  late  in  coming  home  last  night!" 
said  Fru  Gundahl  as  she  rose. 

"But  the  best's  still  to  come!"  said  Gun- 
dahl, rubbing  his  hands,  and  appearing  as  if 


The  Face  of  the  World  145 

he  had  not  heard  his  wife's  remark.  "Fru 
Harrang,  you  know — well,  now  we  shall  have 
fun  in  good  earnest." 

"Fru  Harrang?    What  about  her?" 

"Fru  Harrang  will  be  playing  the  part  of 
Cleopatra  again." 

"What?  Is  there  anything  new  now?"  Fru 
Gundahl  was  more  interested. 

"No,  on  the  contrary,  it's  the  old  story. 
Ivar  Holth  came  here  today!" 

"What?      No,    reaUy !     Here?      Ivar 

Holth?    Straight  from  prison  then!" 

"He  landed  from  the  Bergen  boat  today," 
said  Gundahl,  trotting  delightedly  backwards 
and  forwards;  for  now  his  wife  had  got  so 
much  to  occupy  her,  that  she  would  forget 
that  trifling  matter  concerning  himself. 

"And  what  is  he  going  to  do  here  now?" 
she  exclaimed,  gazing  at  her  husband  in  utter 
consternation. 

"That  I  can  probably  find  out  for  you  a  lit- 
tle later  in  the  day.  But  that  we  shall  have 
some  fun  again,  that — he,  he,  he!"  He  was 
rubbing  his  hands  all  the  time,  and  at  last  had 


146  The  Face  of  the  World 

the  temerity  to  lay  his  arm  across  his  wife's 
broad  shoulders,  and  ask  ingratiatingly 
whether  dinner  would  not  soon  be  ready. 

"But  what's  the  man  to  make  a  living  by 
now?"  she  asked,  continuing  her  train  of 
thought.  "And  she — a  naval  officer's  wife! 
She  ought  surely  to  have  some  sense  of 
shame!" 

"It's  not  written  anywhere  in  the  stars  that 
we're  to  have  a  sense  of  shame,  little  wife," 
said  Gundahl,  shaking  his  head. 

"How  did  he  look?" 

"Flourishing,  my  dear.  He  looked  simply 
splendid !" 

Fru  ,Gundahl  suddenly  decided  that  today 
her  husband  would  be  the  better  for  a  dram 
with  his  food;  and  as  they  sat  at  dinner,  both 
their  faces  shone  with  mutual  kindness,  because 
they  now  had  something  outside  their  own 
home  with  which  to  occupy  themselves. 

Ivar  Holth's  history  was  quite  an  ordinary 
history.  He  had  come  in  from  the  country  as 
a  boy,  and  had  gradually  worked  himself  up 
to  the  position  of  head-clerk  in  Randers  & 


The  Face  of  the  World  147 

Son's  office.  He  was  an  industrious  young 
man,  who  sat  up  at  night  and  studied,  the  first 
year  languages  and  commercial  science,  after- 
wards philosophical  works.  Latterly  he  had 
lived  with  his  sister,  a  young  widow  with  sev- 
eral children.  He  provided  for  this  family  as 
if  it  were  his  own,  and  the  years  had  passed  by 
without  his  having  thought  of  marrjdng. 

But  then  chance  brought  him  his  fate. 

Captain  Harrang  had  come  to  the  town  as 
principal  of  the  Seamen's  School,  and  he 
brought  with  him  a  young  and  unusually 
beautiful  wife. 

Ivar  Holth  danced  with  her  at  the  club  ball 
at  Christmas.  He  held  this  slender,  dark- 
haired  girl  in  a  white  silk  dress,  in  his  arms. 
She  talked  to  him,  looked  at  him,  smiled  at 
him,  and  encouraged  him  when  she  saw  how 
strangely  he  began  to  behave.  Her  delicately 
flushed  face  and  dark  eyelashes  were  so  near 
his  own  face.  Afterwards  he  talked  to  her  of 
Schopenliauer,  and  she  said:  "Fancy!  Are 
you  really  so  learned?"  And  he  conversed 
with  his  partner  about  Newcastle,  where  he 


148  The  Face  of  the  World 

had  spent  six  months  in  an  office,  and  she  still 
said:  "Fancy I  Have  you  been  there,  too?" 
He  amused  her  immensely;  and  when,  late 
that  night,  he  stumbled  homewards,  he  stopped 
to  look  up  at  the  stars  and  ask  them  whether 
there  was  any  meaning  in  life. 

In  the  days  that  followed  he  was  another 
being.  He  sat  writing  poems  in  office-hours, 
and  when  his  principal  asked  him  about  some- 
thing, his  answer  was  such  as  to  make  the  old 
gentleman  put  on  his  spectacles  in  order  to 
observe  him  more  closely. 

The  naval  officer  was  an  ardent  card-player, 
and  in  the  club  Ivar  Holth  was  fortunate 
enough  to  be  at  his  table.  He  lost  willingly, 
gladly  allowed  himself  to  be  fleeced,  but  at- 
tained his  purpose,  namely,  to  be  asked  to 
spend  an  evening  at  the  caj)tain's  house.  At 
last  he  stood  in  those  sacred  rooms  in  which 
she  moved  about  every  day,  every  day.  The 
young  wife  was  still  kind  to  him.  She  had 
amused  herself  with  so  many  young  men,  and 
this  one  was  a  new  type.  Before  Ivar  went 
home,  he  had  received  permission  to  go  down 


The  Face  of  the  World  149 

to  the  market  and  carry  her  parcels  home. 
He  did  it  that  day  and  several  other  days. 
He  got  her  to  go  with  him  to  a  confectioner's. 
He  still  amused  her;  and  he  had  money,  and 
her  husband  had  nothing  but  debts. 

"I  say,  Sigurd!"  said  old  Randers,  opening 
the  door  into  the  outer  office  one  day,  and 
looking  over  his  glasses  at  his  son;  "where's 
the  head-clerk  today?" 

lYoung  Randers  was  sitting  on  his  stool, 
looking  fat  and  indolent.  "We-ell,"  he  said, 
"he's  gone  out." 

"Don't  you  know  where  he  is?"  asked  his 
father,  with  his  red  eyes  still  looking  over  his 
glasses. 

"Well,  yesterday  I  met  him  with  a  basket 
of  lobsters  for  Fru  Harrang,  and  today  per- 
haps he's  gone  after  salmon." 

Old  Randers  blew  his  nose  and  said :  "Very 
well.  Will  you  ask  him  to  come  in  to  me  when 
he  makes  his  appearance  again?" ' 

Ivar  Holth's  love-affair  became  a  disease. 
He,  an  industrious  workman,  a  careful  young 
man,  who  had  hitherto  taken  no  notice  of 


150  The  Face  of  the  World 

women,  was  carried  away  by  a  new  element. 
He  had  saved  up  his  youth  so  long  that  he 
was  no  longer  able  to  control  it.  The  town 
began  to  talk  about  Fru  Harrang  and  him. 
Let  them!  He  heard  that  Fru  Harrang  her- 
self made  fun  of  him.  Let  her!  Would  he 
end  it  then?  He  lay  awake  at  night  and  com- 
posed terrible  farewell  letters;  but  it  all  ended 
in  his  sending  her  flowers.  He  kept  on  letting 
her  husband  fleece  him  at  cards,  and  by  de- 
grees he  became  so  easily  contented  that  he 
felt  these  losses  as  little  caresses  from  her. 
Then  one  day  she  said  "No"  to  a  walk,  but 
he  was  allowed  to  send  her  cakes,  and  she  still 
accepted  flowers.  Then  he  began  sitting  at 
night  on  the  doorstep  of  her  house.  It  was 
a  martyrdom  that  he  voluntarily  sought,  and 
it  became  sweeter  every  time.  He  sat  and 
looked  at  her  bedroom  window  when  it  was 
lighted  up.  They  were  undressing  now.  And 
there!  they  had  put  out  the  light,  and  now 
they  were  alone  together  up  there,  those  two, 
and  he — he  was  sitting  here!  Now  they  were 
kissing  each  other,  locked  in  a  fast  embrace. 


The  Face  of  the  World  151 

It  cut  right  through  his  heart,  but  he  sat  on. 
If  he  could  not  receive  a  single  caress  from 
her,  he  could  at  least  sit  here  and  be  unhappy. 
He  felt  a  desire  to  kill  her  husband,  but  in- 
stead went  on  losing  money  to  him  at  cards, 
so  that  he  might  be  invited  once  more.  What 
would  be  the  end  of  it?  Holth  no  longer 
thought  about  that;  he  went  about  in  a  dazed 
condition,  and  was  indifferent  to  everything 
and  everybody  except  one. 

One  day  he  noticed,  however,  that  the  sur- 
rounding atmosphere  began  to  be  strangely 
sultry,  as  though  a  storm  were  approaching. 
People  looked  at  him  in  a  different  vv^ay,  and 
one  evening,  when  he  met  Captain  Harrang  in 
the  street,  the  latter  stopped  him  and  did  not 
take  off  his  hat  or  make  the  slightest  sign  of 
any  intention  to  do  so. 

"I  say!"  he  said.  "No,  it  was  not  that  I  had 
any  desire  to  shake  hands  with  you.  I  only 
want  to  say  that  you  must  be  so  good  as  to 
leave  my  wife  alone." 

"What?    I?"  stammered  Holth. 


152  The  Face  of  the  World 

"You  don't  want  to  give  me  the  trouble  of 
thrashing  you,  do  you?    Good  morning  I" 

Holth  went  on,  knowing  that  he  had  now 
reached  the  limit.  He  had  known  it  was 
bound  to  happen,  but  he  had  not  wished  to 
think  about  it,  for  he  was  determined,  when 
the  day  came,  to  throw  himself  into  the  sea. 

But  he  did  not  do  it  after  all.  He  allowed 
the  scandal  to  come.  He  let  himself  be  ar- 
rested for  forgery,  bowed  his  head,  and  sub- 
mitted to  punisliment.  He  had  not  wanted 
to  reduce  the  allowance  he  made  to  his  sister, 
and  of  late  his  other  expenses  had  been  great ; 
and  he  had  had  such  practice  in  writing 
"Randers  &  Son."  And  if  it  gained  him  sev- 
eral months  in  which  to  be  unhappy,  why 
should  he  not  do  it? 

When  he  went  away,  he  bade  a  final  fare- 
well to  his  sister,  saying  that  when  his  sentence 
was  over  he  would  emigrate  to  South  Africa; 
but  when  the  time  came,  he  could  not  do  it. 
It  would  not  be  pleasant  to  appear  again  in 
the  httle  town  after  having  been  in  prison; 
and  yet  he  came  back. 


The  Face  of  the  World  153 

It  was  a  fair,  spare  man  of  about  thirty 
who,  with  a  bag  in  his  hand,  walked  up  from 
the  quays  towards  the  town.  He  wore  a  dark 
serge  suit  and  a  gray  felt  hat.  He  stooped, 
was  clean-shaven  and  pale,  and  so  thin  that 
his  cheek-bones  and  nose  stood  out  sharply; 
but  his  eyes  looked  full  of  defiance.  When 
he  passed  any  one  he  had  known  well  in  former 
days,  he  looked  at  him,  but  made  no  sign  of 
recognition.  It  was  as  if  he  said:  "Yes,  I 
know  the  whole  town  will  trample  on  me  now ; 
but  she  lives  here,  so  I'm  coming,  no  matter 
what  you  say!" 

Up  at  the  foot  of  the  hills,  where  the  houses 
became  small  and  scattered,  he  stopped  at  a 
garden  gate,  opened  it,  and  went  in  towards 
the  little  yellow  wooden  house  that  stood  be- 
hind blossoming  hlac-bushes.  Clothes  were 
hanging  to  dry  in  the  garden,  little  children's 
petticoats  and  tiny  stockings  on  the  line.  Sud- 
denly a  httle  girl  of  about  five  came  round  a 
corner,  and  when  she  saw  him,  ran  forward, 
crying:  "Uncle  Ivar!  Have  you  come  home 
after  all?   Mother,  mother!    It's  Uncle  Ivarl" 


154  The  Face  of  the  World 

In  a  moment  the  young  man  had  lifted  the 
child  from  the  ground,  and  her  two  little  arnjs 
were  clasped  about  his  neck. 

A  pale  young  woman  in  a  dark  cotton  dress 
appeared  at  the  door,  and  involuntarily  put 
out  a  hand  as  if  to  steady  herself. 

"Ivar!" 

The  next  moment  she  looked  about  her  as 
if  in  fear  of  her  neighbors;  but  the  young 
man  was  still  chatting  with  the  httle  girl,  and 
it  was  only  after  he  had  put  her  down  that  he 
approached  his  sister. 

"Good  morning,  Inga!'* 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  breathed 
heavily. 

"You — you  must  come  in,"  she  said  softly, 
and  drew  him  in  by  the  hand,  as  if  she  wanted 
to  hide  him. 

It  was  a  small  room,  with  plush  chairs  and 
a  piano,  and  on  the  wall  hung  pictures  of  great 
German  musicians.  Ivar's  brother-in-law  had 
been  an  organist  and  had  also  played  the  vio- 
lin that  how  hung  over  the  sofa  between  Wag~ 
ner  and  Chopin. 


The  Face  of  the  World  155 

The  brother  and  sister  stood  a  moment  look- 
ing at  one  another. 

"How  are  you  all  here?" 

"Quite  well,  thank  you.  But  you!  Dear 
Ivarl"  she  said,  taking  both  his  hands  in  hers, 
her  eyes  filhng  with  tears. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  oughtn't  to  have  come 
here,  but " 

"Aren't  you  hungry?  Will  you  Iiave  a  cup 
of  chocolate?"  she  asked,  trying  to  get  the 
better  of  her  emotion. 

"I'm  afraid  you  have  a  cough,  Inga!" 

"Don't  talk  about  me,  but  sit  down.  It 
won't  be  so  very  long  before  dinner  is  ready," 
she  said;  and  making  him  sit  down  on  the 
sofa,  she  hurried  out.  He  heard  her  blowing 
her  nose  and  knew  that  she  had  begun  to 
cry. 

So  here  he  sat  again  in  the  little  cottage 
that  had  been  his  home  for  several  years,  with 
its  plants  and  ornaments  and  music  and 
books.  His  brother-in-law  had  succumbed  to 
a  chest-disease,  and  after  his  death  his  wife 
had  gone  to  the  expense  of  having  a  large 


156  The  Face  of  the  World 

portrait  of  him  done,  and  this  now  hung  on 
one  wall  by  itself.  The  hollow-cheeked  young 
man  up  there  seemed  to  be  looking  down  at 
him,  Ivar,  and  saying:  "You  can't  think  how 
hard  your  sister  has  striven  to  keep  things 
going  while  you've  been  away;  but  it's  a 
peculiar  kind  of  help  you're  bringing  her 
now!" 

Then  the  children  came  rushing  in.  The 
eldest  girl,  Grethe,  was  seven.  She  had  just 
come  from  school,  and  headed  the  others. 
"Uncle!  Is  it  true?"  she  cried,  throwing  her 
arms  round  his  neck,  while  the  little  two- 
year-old  boy  crawled  over  the  threshold,  cry- 
ing, "Uncle!"  "Have  you  come  back  now 
from  that  long  journey?"  asked  the  little  girl, 
as  she  kissed  him  and  hid  her  face  on  his 
shoulder.  And  then  they  all  began  to  talk  at 
once. 

They  had  dinner  together  as  in  the  old 
days,  and  when  the  children  were  sent  away, 
the  brother  and  sister  sat  silent  for  a  little 
while,  looking  out  of  the  window. 


The  Face  of  the  World  157 

"I  suppose  you've  let  out  my  room?"  he 
said  at  last. 

"No,"  she  answered,  drawing  with  her 
finger  on  the  table. 

"I  suppose  you — you  won't  want  me  as  a 
lodger  now,  Inga?" 

She  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  bent  her 
head,  and  her  breath  came  quickly. 

"I'm  afraid  it'll  be  difficult  for  you  to  be 
here  in  the  town,  Ivar.'* 

"I  know  it  will.  And  you  will  be  ashamed 
to  have  me  in  your  house  now." 

"You  know  quite  well  that  it  isn't  that; 
but  I'm  afraid — ^well,  that  it'll  be  the  same 
thing  over  again.  It  isn't  good  for  you  to 
be  where  she  is." 

He  was  silent  for  some  time.  "I  ought, 
of  course,  to  have  gone  and  drowned  myself," 
he  said  at  last.  "But  it's  you  and  yours  I 
have  to  consider.  No,  I  must  try  to  begin 
again.    If  only  I  had  something  to  do !" 

"What  have  you  thought  of  beginning  now, 
Ivar?" 

"If  there's  nothing  else  to  be  done,  I  sup- 


158  Tlie  Face  of  the  World 

pose  I  can  be  a  dock-laborer  or  a  driver.  I've 
no  reason  to  be  proud  now." 

They  sat  in  silence  again  for  a  little  while. 

"You've  got  a  cough!"  he  said  at  last,  as 
he  had  said  once  before. 

*'0h,  it's  nothing  to  speak  of." 

He  looked  at  the  pale,  young  face  beneath 
the  brown  hair.  Her  eyes  looked  weary  with 
watching,  and  indeed  she  had  had  much  to 
agitate  her  during  the  last  few  years. 

"Have  you  managed  without — ^without  any 
assistance,  Inga?" 

She  nodded,  and  at  the  same  time  coughed 
again. 

"And  you  haven't  suffered  want?'* 

"No,  but  perhaps  I've  had  to  do  rather  too 
much.     I'm  pretty  tired." 

"Do  you  still  do  embroidery  for  that  firm 
in  Bergen?" 

She  nodded,  but  with  a  sigh.  "I've  done 
the  cooking  at  parties  too,  and  helped  at 
different  houses  with  the  month's  washing; 
but  I'm  not  much  good  at  that,  for  I  get 
so  tired." 


The  Face  of  the  World  159 

Ivar's  old  room  was  made  ready  for  him» 
and  when  he  entered  it  again,  a  peculiar  warm 
joy  and  peace  streamed  into  his  soul.  At  last 
he  was  at  home!  He  undressed  and  went  to 
bed,  stretching  himself  on  his  old  couch,  and 
breathing  so  easily  in  the  lilac-scented  air  that 
came  through  the  open  window. 

His  pale  face  had  acquired  a  tinge  of  brown 
from  the  sea-air  on  his  way  home,  but  his 
closed  eyes  seemed  to  sink  deeper  and  deeper 
into  their  sockets.  Ah,  it  was  months  since 
he  had  really  slept!  His  sister  was  washing 
up  in  the  kitchen,  and  he  loved  the  sound 
The  children  were  chattering  in  the  garden, 
the  flies  buzzed,  and  he  gently  fell  asleep, 
sinking  into  deep  slumber  and  finding  rest 
there.    At  last! 


XI 

On  the  morning  when  Harold  Mark  was  to 
take  over  the  hospital,  Sister  Alma  went 
about  in  a  pecuhar  state  of  uneasiness.  She 
had  not  forgotten  how  he  mocked  at  his  own 
profession  the  first  day  he  was  at  home;  but 
why  then  did  he  want  to  take  so  important  a 
post?  She  felt  as  if  she  had  something  at 
stake,  and  as  if  she  herself  were  more  useless 
than  before.  When  she  had  gone  into  the 
Red  Cross  she  was  crushed  with  suffering 
and  robbed  of  all  her  dreams;  and  the  life 
within  the  hospital-walls  had  brought  her  not 
only  forgetfulness,  but  also  cheerfulness.  She 
was  still  young  and  pretty,  and  when  she 
entered  a  ward,  with  a  newly-awakened  joy 
in  living  in  her  every  movement,  she  seemed 
to  spread  sunshine  around  her,  and  brought 
smiles  to  the  pale  faces  in  the  beds. 

But  she  did  not  like  to  have  to  doubt  what 
a  doctor  did.     She  could  attend  the  worst 

160 


The  Face  of  the  World  161 

operations  without  moving  a  muscle,  because 
she  knew  it  was  for  the  good  of  the  patient; 
but  she  could  not  bear  to  think  that  a  doctor 
doubted  himself. 

She  worshiped  Harold's  mother.  When 
the  great  catastrophe  befell  her  home,  and 
the  town  gossip  was  busy  with  its  fallen  mem- 
bers, it  was  Fru  Mark  who  came  and  called; 
and  afterwards,  when  she  came  back  as  sister, 
and  her  parents  were  dead,  it  was  again  Fru 
Mark  who  managed  that  the  girl  should  live 
with  her,  so  that  she  should  not  feel  quite  so 
lonely  in  her  native  town. 

Many  an  evening  the  two  women  had  sat 
and  talked  about  the  much-discussed  doctor 
in  Christiania,  and  Sister  Alma  had  become 
infected  with  his  mother's  care  for  him;  and 
she  wanted  things  to  go  well  with  him  now. 

She  had  had  a  spring  cleaning  in  her  di- 
vision, so  that  he  should  find  everything  in 
order,  although  perhaps  he  would  take  no 
notice  of  it  at  all. 

The  moment  arrived.  Harold  went  quickly 
up  the  stairs,  accompanied  by  the  assistant 


162  The  Face  of  the  World 

physician,  Dr.  Ramni,  a  square-built  man 
with  a  thick,  brown  moustache.  It  was  to  be 
a  preliminary  survey  of  the  various  wards, 
and  Sister  Alma  and  another  nurse  accom- 
panied them  in  case  they  should  be  wanted. 

"I  think  we'll  look  at  the  operating-room 
first,"  said  Harold,  and  when  they  went  in 
he  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  looked 
about  him. 

"Oh!"  he  said  at  last.  "So  this  is  the 
operating-room.  But  I  say,  isn't  there  even 
a  Rontgen  apparatus  here?'* 

Dr.  Rarmn  shook  his  head.  "There's  been 
some  talk  about  it,"  he  said,  "but  we  haven't 
got  any  farther." 

"Then  I  think  we'll  telegraph  to  Berlin  for 
it  this  evening,"  said  Harold,  nodding  to  Dr. 
Ramm.  "Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  see  to 
that?" 

"Well,"  objected  Dr.  Ramm  with  a  smile, 
**but  the  Department  must  first  grant  the 
money." 

"I'll  take  the  responsibility.  There's  a 
limit  to  everything.  But  wait  a  little.  There'll 


The  Face  of  the  World  163 

be  several  other  things  that  we  shall  have  to 
order  in  the  same  telegram." 

Dr.  Ramm  bowed.  The  two  sisters  ex- 
changed glances. 

In  going  through  one  of  the  long  passages 
Harold  suddenly  stopped. 

"Hullo!"  he  exclaimed.  "Here's  a  little 
organ!    Who  plays  it?" 

"I  do,"  said  Sister  Alma. 

"For  the  patients?" 

"Of  course." 

"Hymns?" 

She  nodded.  "Yes,  hymns;  and  other 
things  too." 

"It's  not  bad  medicine,  that,"  he  remarked, 
passing  on. 

When  they  had  been  over  the  whole  group 
of  buildings,  Harold  asked  Sister  Alma  and 
Dr.  Ramm  to  come  with  him  into  his  room. 

"The  hospital  is  overcrowded,"  he  said. 
"Those  who  don't  die  of  disease  or  of  our 
drugs,  will  die  of  the  atmosphere  in  there. 
More  room  must  be  made." 


164  The  Face  of  the  World 

"Well,  but  there  is  no  more  room!"  said 
Dr.  Ramm. 

"Yes,  there's  the  senior  physician's  house. 
I  don't  need  to  move  in  there;  so  this  after- 
noon we  shall  have  to  take  some  of  them  over 
there.  I've  decided  that  the  blue  dining-room 
shall  be  your  room.  Sister  Alma.  Have  you 
any  objection  to  settling  in  there  this  eve- 
ning?" 

Sister  Alma  nodded.  It  was  sad  to  have 
to  leave  Fru  Mark,  but  at  the  same  time  she 
was  glad  that  he  was  going  into  everything  so 
thoroughly;  and  he  spoke  in  a  tone  that  made 
obedience  a  matter  of  course. 

"Then  about  the  provisioning!"  he  said, 
seating  himself  at  the  writing-table  and  pass- 
ing his  fingers  through  his  beard.  "It  seems 
to  me  a  most  ridiculous  arrangement  that  a 
hotel  shall  provide  the  food  for  the  patients. 
And  how  can  we  have  any  check  on  it?  But 
there  could  be  a  splendid  kitchen  down  in 
the  large  basement.    Where  is  the  steward?" 

"There  is  no  steward,"  said  Dr.  Ramm. 

Harold  raised  his  eyebrows.     "What!"  he 


The  Face  of  the  World  165 

exclaimed.  "Well,  it  looks  as  if  there'd  be  a 
few  things  to  see  to  in  the  first  few  days.  It's 
a  good  thing,  however,  to  have  something  to 
do,"  he  added  with  a  sigh,  as  he  looked  to- 
wards the  window. 

When  evening  came.  Sister  Alma's  few 
possessions  had  all  been  moved  in,  her  bed 
made,  and  she  herself  was  sitting  by  the 
window,  looking  down  into  the  big  garden. 
There  were  two  or  three  cherry-trees  in  blos- 
som down  there;  and  beyond,  the  little  gray 
waves  of  the  bay  were  breaking  on  the  beach. 
In  the  other  direction,  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
town,  she  could  see  the  white  house  on  the 
rocky  knoll,  where  mother  and  son  were  now 
probably  sitting  at  supper. 

And  now  she  was  living  here.  The  house 
was  in  one  wing  of  the  hospital,  and  on  the 
right  she  could  look  into  the  courtyard  and 
see  the  gray  walls  at  the  back  of  the  building, 
and  feel  the  melancholy  hospital  atmosphere. 
It  was  as  though  the  great  buildings  them- 
selves were  ill;  and  in  the  wards  there  were 
rows  and  rows  of  beds  containing  outstretched 


166  The  Face  of  the  World 

forms,  several  of  them  half  dead.  She  was 
accustomed  to  it  all,  and  yet,  as  she  sat  there, 
she  felt  alone,  and  knew  that  she  would  never 
have  another  home. 

The  telephone-bell  rang,  and  she  went  to  it 
and  held  the  receiver  to  her  ear. 

"It's  Dr.  Mark.    How  are  you,  sister?" 

"All  right,  thank  you!" 

"I  just  happened  to  think  of  something. 
I  once  bought  a  grand  piano  when  I  was  in 
Christiania.  You  have  plenty  of  room,  haven't 
you?  Wouldn't  you  like  to  have  it  down 
there?" 

"Why,  yes,  of  course  I  should !  But  it  would 
be  too  bad  to  take  it!" 

"And  then  you  can  sit  and  play  Beethoven's 
ninth  symphony  when  things  get  too  sad  for 
you  down  there." 

"Well,  but  don't  you  want  it  yourself?" 

"I  haven't  room  for  it,  and  I  don't  want  it 
either.    Good-night,  sister!" 

The  days  came  and  went,  and  Sister  Alma 
still  found  it  difficult  to  understand  this 
strange  man.    By  the  bedside  of  a  patient  he 


The  Face  of  the  World  167 

was  so  professional  and  cold.  It  was  only  the 
disease  and  not  the  patient  that  he  cared 
about;  and  in  the  milder  cases  he  looked  as 
if  he  were  indescribably  bored.  But  she  had 
never  seen  a  doctor  so  quiet  when  he  stood 
at  the  operating-table;  and  when  his  assistant 
made  a  mistake  he  did  not  get  angry,  but 
would  say  with  a  kindly  smile:  "Don't  be 
uneasy!    It'll  be  all  right,  you'll  see!" 

A  week  after  he  had  entered  on  his  duties, 
he  had  operated  on  a  case  of  very  advanced 
cancer  in  an  old  woman.  He  did  not  go 
home  that  day  to  dinner  as  he  generally  did, 
for  he  did  not  want  to  leave  the  patient. 
Late  that  evening  she  died,  and  her  old  hus- 
band, a  peasant  from  one  of  the  islands,  who 
had  been  sitting  waiting  all  the  time  in  an 
ante-room,  was  told  of  it,  and  went  sadly  down 
the  stairs.  Sister  Alma  was  very  tired  that 
evening,  and  when  at  last  she  went  to  bed^, 
only  tossed  from  side  to  side,  unable  to 
sleep. 

It  was  past  midnight  when  she  happened 
to  see  from  her  window  that  there  was  a 


168  The  Face  of  the  World 

light  in  the  dissecting-room.  She  put  on  her 
dressing-gown  and  went  across,  and  on  open- 
ing the  door  she  saw  the  body  of  the  old 
woman  lying  on  the  table  and  Dr.  Mark  in 
his  white  operating-coat,  sitting  by  the  open 
window,  smoking  a  cigar.  Sister  Ahna  stood 
gazing  in  astonishment.  Had  he  carried  the 
body  in  himself  and  then  stood  here  at  this 
late  hour,  tired  out  after  a  fatiguing  day,  dis- 
secting it  in  order  to  find  out  more  about  the 
old  woman's  disease?  Behind  him  was  the 
gray  spring  night,  and  through  the  open 
window  she  could  see  the  bay  and  the  moun- 
tains, and  against  them  his  profile  with  fair 
hair  and  beard,  and  dreamy  eyes  looking 
straight  before  him. 

"Hullo!"  he  said,  rising  suddenly.  "What 
do  you  want?" 

"Do  you  need  any  help?" 

"No,  I've  finished."  He  threw  away  His 
cigar,  and  turned  again  to  the  window.  "I 
only  wanted  to  see  whether  we'd  made  any 
mistake." 

"But  she  was  so  old,  and  the  disease  was 


The  Face  of  the  World  169 

so  far  advanced,"  she  said,  with  an  attempt 
at  consolation. 

"Well,  that  only  means  that  she  was  too 
old  for  us,  and  the  disease  too  far  advanced 
for  me  to  manage  it;  but  that's  poor  con- 
solation.'* 

"Now,  Dr.  Mark,  hadn't  you  better  go 
home  and  go  to  bed?" 

He  looked  at  the  dead  body  beneath  the 
electric  light,  with  its  fallen-in  mouth  and 
straying  locks  of  gray  hair.  "It's  not  the 
old  woman  that  interests  me  so  much,"  he 
said,  "but  the  fact  that  we  haven't  got  any 
farther  yet.  We  smile  at  the  medical  men  of 
a  century  ago,  and  in  another  hundred  years 
others  will  be  smiling  at  us.  And  every  step 
onwards  costs  a  nimiber  of  lives  and  opens  up 
new  problems.  Well,  well,  let's  be  glad  that 
we're  going  to  have  strawberries  and  cream 
for  dinner  tomorrow.  I  don't  know  of  any 
other  consolation.'* 

He  changed  into  his  usual  jacket,  nodded 
a  good-night,  and  went  out.  She  turned  out 
the  light,   and  in  the  passage   stood   for  a 


170  The  Face  of  the  World 

i 

moment  listening  to  his  step  as  he  descended 
the  stairs.  The  old  man  that  had  lost  his 
wife  that  day  had  gone  away  with  a  heavy 
step;  but  the  doctor's  step  sounded  so  hope- 
less. The  door  banged,  and  the  sound  of  his 
footstep  died  away  in  the  silence  of  the  night; 
but  it  sounded  as  if  he  did  not  know  where 
to  go. 

The  town  was,  by  now,  becoming  accustomed 
to  the  sight  of  mother  and  son  coming  in 
together  every  morning  from  the  white  house. 
He  went  with  her  to  the  school,  and  then  went 
on  to  the  hospital.  As  soon  as  he  was  alone 
he  could  smile.  Oh,  if  only  he  had  her  well- 
balanced  mind,  her  self-esteem,  her  faith! 
Indeed  even  her  anger  only  did  good,  for 
her  enemies  were  not  stronger  than  that  they 
could  be  overcome,  nor  her  world  larger  than 
that  it  was  possible  for  the  evil  in  it  to  be 
put  right.  She  still  lived  on  the  liberal  ideas 
that  had  been  fought  for  thirty  years  before. 
To  help  her  neighbor  was  everything  to  her; 
to  feel  a  positive  ray  of  light  in  her  own 
soul  was  something  to  which  she  never  gave 


The  Face  of  the  World  171 

a  thought.  He  considered  it  very  touching, 
and  yet  they  had  been  nearer  to  each  other 
when  they  met  in  those  long,  confidential 
letters.  They  sat  together  in  the  evenings 
now,  and  he  would  say:  "Are  you  all  right, 
mother?"  "Oh,  yes!"  she  would  answer;  "but 
isn't  there  anything  you  would  like,  Harold?" 
He  so  often  noticed  that  when  he  talked  to 
her  he  was  thinking  all  the  time  about  quite 
different  things;  and  many  a  time  when  she 
was  talking  about  things  that  interested  her, 
he  found  the  greatest  difficulty  in  paying  at- 
tention  to  what  she  said,  because  this  little 
town,  which  was  everything  to  her,  did  not 
interest  him  in  the  shghtest  degree.  Had  he 
then  become  incapable  of  hving  in  companion- 
ship with  his  mother?  He  had  a  home  now, 
but  how  could  he  give  his  attention  to  it  every 
day  when  his  thoughts  were  roaming  all  over 
the  world?  Home?  A  bed,  a  table  and  a 
couple  of  chairs  were  enough  for  a  man  like 
him;  to  fix  his  mind  on  things  within  those 
four  walls  seemed  a  sheer  impossibihty  to  him 
now. 


172  The  Face  of  the  World 

After  he  had  left  his  mother  at  the  school, 
he  noticed  the  numerous  faces  that  he  met, 
and  again  he  smiled  involuntarily.  He  knew 
that  he  had  been  a  great  disappointment  to 
the  working-men,  and  at  the  outset  he  had 
been  a  bugbear  to  the  others;  but  what  did 
it  matter  to  him?  A  man  who  has  run  through 
all  the  world's  papers  while  he  drinks  his 
morning  coffee  is  accompanied  everywhere  by 
a  mirage  ^f  the  great  events  in  all  countries, 
of  stormy  scenes  in  parliaments  in  all  quarters 
of  the  globe,  of  strikes,  rebellions,  congresses, 
catastrophes,  the  whole  world  in  huge 
glimpses.  And  it  has  one  advantage,  at  any 
rate,  namely,  that  he  can  put  little  things  in 
their  places.  That  one  or  another  in  this 
little  nest  did  not  like  him  was  something 
that  could  really  be  borne. 

One  light  June  evening  a  large  tourist 
steamer  came  up  to  the  quay,  and  some  of 
her  passengers  came  ashore  to  look  about  them. 
The  townspeople  had  gathered  on  the  pier, 
and  were  standing  staring  at  the  strangers. 

"Why,   bless   my   soul!   if  that   isn't  Dr. 


The  Face  of  the  World  173 

Mark!"  exclaimed  a  man  in  a  white  cap, 
standing  at  the  rail;  and  the  next  moment  he 
had  jumped  on  to  the  quay. 

Harold  was  sauntering  down  dressed  in  a 
light  suit  and  tan  shoes,  and  now  caught 
sight  of  the  other.  They  shook  hands  heartily, 
laughed,  and  talked  both  together.  The  new-, 
comer  was  an  artist  named  Lammers,  with 
whom  Harold  had  drunk  many  a  bottle  of  Ba- 
varian beer  at  the  Cafe  de  Versailles. 

"But  you  can't  have  settled  down  in  a  con- 
founded hole  like  this,  man?'* 

"Be  quiet  and  don't  speak  evil  of  the  town. 
This  is  a  very  large  place.  But  do  tell  me 
how  long  you  stayed  down  there  after  I  le'ft. 
Tell  me  the  Paris  news!" 

They  walked  up  and  down  arm  in  arm. 
Lammers  had  only  returned  from  Paris  in 
the  spring,  and  now  he  spoke  of  new  methods 
among  artists,  of  the  theatres,  of  little  scandals 
in  the  Scandinavian  colony.  At  last  Harold 
could  contain  himself  no  longer,  and  said: 
"And — and  my  former  wife,  Madame  Duparc> 
have  you  seen  anything  of  her  lately?" 


174  The  Face  of  the  World 

His  companion  was  a  little  embarrassed. 
"Oh,  yes,''  he  answered.  "She  turned  up 
now  and  then  in  the  old  rendezvous  with  le 
man.  We  were  asked  there  to  dinner  one 
day  too.  She  has  a  really  beautiful  home  and 
two  dear  little  children." 

Harold  had  turned  red,  and  was  glad  that 
at  that  moment  the  steamer's  bell  rang  for 
the  third  time.     "Good-bye!     Good-bye!" 

He  stood  watching  the  great  ship  as  she 
steamed  out  across  the  bay  in  the  yellow  eve- 
ning light,  with  a  fan  of  waves  behind  her. 
A  fresh,  living  breath  of  air  from  the  great 
world  had  touched  him. 

"Thora! — And  have  you  got  two  babies 
now?'*  He  went  slowly  homewards  with 
bowed  head. 

The  weather  changed  to  heavy  rain  for 
the  next  few  days,  and  the  wind  swept  in 
from  the  sea  a  storm  of  gray,  dripping  clouds, 
which  hid  the  mountains  and  jfilled  the  town 
with  a  dreary  gloom.  The  wind  roared  in 
the  west,  it  howled  in  the  rigging  of  the  ships 
in  the  harbor,  and  in  the  street,  when  people 


The  Face  of  the  World  175 

turned,  their  umbrellas  were  blown  inside 
out.  The  old  landing-stages  on  their  mussel- 
covered  piles  creaked  with  the  waves  and  the 
wind,  and  now  and  then  the  wind  tore  open  a 
door  in  an  upper  story  of  a  warehouse,  and 
caused  such  a  disturbance  among  the  bins 
and  coils  of  rope,  the  barrels  and  the  cases, 
that  the  employes  rushed  about  shouting  and 
gesticulating. 

The  baker's  cart,  drawn  by  a  dun  fjord- 
horse,  was  going  through  the  streets.  The 
driver,  a  pale  young  man  in  sou'wester  and 
oilskin  coat,  was  Ivar  Holth.  The  horse  knew 
the  houses  at  which  it  had  to  stop,  and  the 
man  took  in  the  bread  and  then  went  on. 
Ivar  Holth  had  once  begun  here  as  errand- 
boy,  and  worked  himself  up  to  be  head  clerk; 
but  now  he  had  dropped  down  to  the  position 
of  driver  of  a  baker's  cart,  and,  like  the 
horse,  he  bowed  his  head  to  the  storm  and 
tried  to  make  the  best  of  it.  There  were  one 
or  two  things  that  were  not  pleasant.  His 
old  club  companions  looked  another  way  when 
they  passed,  and  little  boys  sang  songs  about 


176  The  Face  of  the  World 

him  and  called  him  Potemkin.  The  towns- 
people were  frequent  visitors  at  the  picture- 
houses,  but  here  they  could  see  pictures  for 
nothing  in  the  street.  Was  it  strange  that 
all  eyes  looked  at  him  as  at  a  play? 

He  went  to  the  back  door  in  many  houses, 
and  more  than  one  lady  whose  guest  he  had 
formerly  been,  opened  their  eyes  in  astonish- 
ment.     "Why,    dear   me!    aren't   you ?" 

"How  many  loaves  do  you  want  today?"  he 
would  ask  proudly,  declining  all  sympathy. 

He  also  went  to  the  back  door  of  Captain 
Harrang's  house,  where  the  maid  was  the 
same  that  had  waited  upon  him  at  table  when 
he  was  a  guest  at  the  house,  and  now  treated 
him  rather  differently.  "I  wonder  if  I  shall 
see  Fru  Harrang  today?"  he  would  often 
think;  but  Fru  Harrang  was  never  in  the 
kitchen,  although  he  often  had  a  feeling  that 
she  was  somewhere  near,  looking  at  him 
while  she  herself  was  unseen.  He  always 
tried  to  pick  out  the  best  loaves  for  thjs 
house,  and  it  was  such  a  pleasure  to  him  to 
stand  for  a  moment  at  the  dresser  where  she 


The  Face  of  the  World  177 

probably  often  stood  and  busied  herself  in 
some  way  or  other. 

He  was  in  the  same  town  as  she,  and  he 
even  went  into  her  kitchen,  which  was  a  pleas- 
ure. And  everything  else  he  had  known  in 
advance.  He  felt  as  if  the  whole  town  were 
tramping  over  his  body  so  that  it  was  broken, 
sore  and  crushed;  but  at  last  that  too  ceased 
to  hurt  him. 

Every  Saturday  he  took  his  week's  wages 
home  to  his  sister,  who  often  accepted  them 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "But  what  about  you?" 
she  would  say. 

"I?    I  don't  need  anything." 

"But  I  can't  take  all  you  earn,  Ivar!"  "It's 
not  even  enough  for  board  and  lodging,"  he 
would  say.  "If  only  you  would  leave  off 
coughing  like  that!" 

But  every  evening  when  he  changed  into 
his  best  clothes,  she  grew  uneasy.  "Where  are 
you  going,  Ivar?" 

"Oh,  just  for  a  little  walk." 

She  would  sit  and  wait,  as  anxious  as  if  he 
had  become  a  reveler.    It  might  be  past  mid- 


178  The  Face  of  the  World 

night  again  before  he  returned,  and  she  was 
afraid  he  had  gone  back  to  his  old  ways.  It 
was  ahnost  worse  than  if  he  drank,  for  drink 
would  not,  at  any  rate,  so  certainly  lead  him 
into  misfortune  again. 

When  Holth  went  out,  he  always  thought 
of  going  in  quite  another  direction  in  the 
town,  or  indeed,  far,  far  out  into  the  country; 
but  it  always  ended  in  his  finding  himself  out- 
side Captain  Harrang's  house  late  at  night. 
It  was  a  two-story  house  with  its  main  entrance 
in  a  small  side  street  where  there  were  seldom 
any  passers-by  late  in  the  evening. 

So  he  began  standing  there  again,  looking 
up  at  one  particular  window.  The  nights  were 
too  light  now  to  need  a  light  up  there,  but 
he  knew  the  window  from  former  times;  and, 
within  it,  were  she  and  that  other!  He  went 
and  sat  down  on  the  steps  again  with  bent 
head,  and  began  to  tremble  with  the  same 
sufferings  as  of  old. 

He  would  sometimes  raise  his  head  and  try 
to  collect  his  thoughts.  He  remembered  his 
sister.     He  ought  to  go  home.     He  remem- 


The  Face  of  the  World  179 

bered  his  father,  the  old  parish  clerk  out  at 
Askoen,  who  had  never  shown  himself  in  the 
town  since  his  son  had  gone  wrong.  And,  in 
old  days,  when  any  one  from  his  old  home 
had  met  him  in  the  street,  he  had  taken  off 
his  cap  and  was  proud  that  one  of  themselves 
had  risen  so  high.  Now  most  of  them  passed 
him  by  without  knowing  him.  All  this  was 
not  pleasant,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it. 
He  sat  now  beneath  her  window,  tearing  his 
heart  up  into  little  bleeding  fibres.  He  hoped 
for  nothing.  Sometimes  people  passed  and 
laughed  at  him;  he  was  the  laughing-stock  of 
the  town,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it.  There 
was  no  help  for  it. 

The  next  evening  he,  once  more,  intended  to 
go  far  out  of  the  town,  but  came  to  anchor 
here  again. 

She  will  be  in  bed  now,  perhaps  with  the 
clothes  drawn  right  up  to  her  chin;  but  her 
hair  is  let  down  and  is  lying  in  dark  waves 
over  her  pillow.  Her  breathing — those  long, 
light  breaths — he  can  actually  hear  them;  he 
notices  the  fragrance  of  her  beautiful  young 


180  The  Face  of  the  World 

body,  and  can  see  her  bosom  rise  and  fall  be- 
neath her  white  nightdress. 

And  then — then  her  husband  will  come,  and 
he  will  take  her  in  his  arms;  and  Ivar  Holth 
feels  the  perspiration  break  out,  and  he 
clenches  his  fists  and  gasps  for  breath.  "O 
God!   O  Godl  keep  me  from  going  mad!" 

He  was  sitting  thus  one  evening  when  he 
was  aroused  by  a  footstep.  A  thickset  man 
was  approaching.  He  was  in  uniform  and 
wore  a  white  cap,  and  his  buttons  glittered. 
It  was  Captain  Harrang;  but  he  walked  xm- 
steadily  and  must  have  come  from  the  club 
or  a  party. 

Holth  rose  and  tried  fo  slip  away,  but  it 
was  too  late.  The  unsteady  man  was  already 
in  front  of  him;  his  face  was  red,  and  he 
smelt  of  tobacco  and  whiskey. 

"Good  evening!"  said  Holth,  touching  his 
hat. 

"Now  IVe  just  got  one  thing  to  say  to  ydu, 
Mr. — Mr.  Baker's-man!  If  I  ever  find  you 
again — no,  wait!  I've  not  finished!"  said  the 
captain,  seizing  Ivar  by  the  collar. 


The  Face  of  the  World  181 

"Let  me  go!" 

"I'll  teach  you  to  go!  Do  you  know  that 
you're  making  me  and  my  wife  ridiculous  all 
over  the  town?" 

"Let  go,  confound  you  I  I'll  never  show 
myself  here  again.  Oh,  you're  scratching  me, 
I  say!"  Ivar  set  his  teeth,  and  tried  to  push 
his  assailant  away. 

"What!  You  dare  to  touch  me?  You  dare 
to  push  me?  You?  I'll  teach  you  once  for 
all  not  to  lie  like  a  dog  outside  my  house!" 
And  as  he  spoke  he  gave  Ivar  a  blow  on  the 
side  of  the  head. 

Before  he  knew  what  he  was  about,  Ivar 
had  returned  the  blow.  The  repressed  desire 
of  years  to  throw  himself  upon  this  man  now 
broke  loose.  He  hit,  kicked,  was  hit  and 
kicked  again,  tumbled  about  in  the  road,  fell, 
but  sprang  up  again,  was  thrown  against  the 
wall,  but  the  next  moment  had  sprung  upon 
the  other,  who  was  as  furious  as  himself. 

Neither  of  them  saw  that  a  window  in  the 
first  floor  opened.  Neither  of  them  heard  a 
woman  call.    Other  windows  opened  in  houses 


182  The  Face  of  the  World 

round,  and  people  in  night-attire  appeared  at 
them.  The  captain  had  lost  his  cap  and  a 
cuff.  At  this  moment  he  retreated  a  couple 
of  steps  to  get  a  run,  but  his  blow  missed  its 
aim,  and  instead  a  fist  was  planted  in  his  eye, 
and  he  fell  to  the  ground. 

At  that  moment  the  police  arrived;  but 
only  Holth  was  taken  into  custody. 

At  home  in  the  cottage  at  the  foot  of  the 
hills  his  sister  lay  and  waited  for  him.  The 
clock  struck  three  and  it  struck  four.  What 
had  happened  to  Ivar? 


XII 

When  for  once  something  really  happens 
in  a  little  town,  it  sends  a  shock  through  old 
and  young.  The  wives  drink  still  more  coffee, 
the  husbands  are  obliged  to  go  into  the  town; 
and  the  groups  of  men  stand  at  all  the 
corners,  gesticulating. 

Dr.  Prahl  was  a  highly-esteemed  man.  He 
had  been  in  England  two  or  three  times,  he 
kept  a  large  motor-boat,  he  bought  paintings, 
and  got  his  claret  direct  from  Bordeaux.  He 
was  now  standing  outside  the  bank,  shaking 
his  stick  at  Dr.  Kemp,  and  saying  that  abroad, 
in  Germany,  for  instance.  Captain  Harrang 
would  have  had  to  leave  the  navy  immediately 
after  such  a  scandalous  affair.  "Don't  you 
agree  with  me?"  he  asked. 

"But  what  about  the  other  then?"  said 
Kemp  with  a  smile,  stepping  aside  to  avoid  the 
stick. 

"The  other!    A  monomaniac!    In  my  opin- 

183 


184.  The  Face  of  the  World 

ion  he's  a  person  with  inherited  failings, 
whom  Lombroso  would  have  shut  up  on  the 
testimony  of  his  face  alone.  Just  you  wait! 
He'll  do  still  worse  things,  you'll  see!" 

"But  he'll  be  sentenced  pretty  severely  now, 
since  he's  been  in  prison  once  before." 

"Sentenced!  Are  you  so  innocent  as  to 
think  that  he'll  be  sentenced?  No,  in  the 
present  day  you  can  kill  people  outright 
and  still  strut  about  and  shake  hands  with 
the  authorities.  Sentenced!  No!  In  the 
autumn  they'll  elect  him  a  member  of  the 
Municipal  Board,  you'll  see.  Wait  and  see 
if  I'm  not  right!  Good  morning!"  And  the 
doctor  raised  a  finger  to  his  straw  hat  and 
went  on  his  way  with  a  dignity  peculiar  to 
himself.  Alas!  this  town  was  so  much  too 
small  for  him!  There  was  scarcely  any  one 
here  who  possessed  real  culture ;  and  he  sighed 
and  looked  out  over  the  bay,  as  if  he  would 
like  to  go  on  a  voyage. 

Now  it  happened  that  Lawyer  Gundahl 
came  home  to  dinner  in  the  best  of  spirits, 
and  that  the  husband  and  wife  were  once 


The  Face  of  the  World  185 

more  good  friends  and  drank  claret  at  din- 
ner and  exchanged  loving  glances.  But  he 
did  not  say  much,  for  the  town  was  seeing  to 
all  that,  and  the  feeling  was  there  all  the 
same.  He  rubbed  his  hands,  noticed  that  it 
was  perfect  summer  weather,  and  decided  not 
to  go  to  his  office  that  afternoon,  but  go  for 
a  walk  with  his  wife  instead. 

And  this  he  did. 

They  went  arm  in  arm  through  the  little 
town,  these  two,  and  today  Gundahl  was 
polite  enough  to  raise  his  hat  to  the  groups 
who  stood  in  the  street,  all  talking  at  once. 
But  he  said  nothing.  It  was  splendid  sum- 
mer weather,  and  they  were  going  to  take 
a  stroll — ^he  so  very  small,  and  she  so  big  and 
plump.  Now  he  was  really  going  to  do  what 
he  had  often  thought  of  doing;  he  was  going 
to  try  to  open  his  wife's  eyes  to  the  beauty  of 
nature,  and  tell  her  a  little  about  poetry. 

Dr.  IVIark  was  also  going  through  the 
town,  and  it  was  still  as  impossible  as  ever 
for  him  to  feel  any  interest  in  what  the 
people  here  did.    He  did  his  daily  work  with- 


186  The  Face  of  the  World 

out  remembering  where  he  really  was,  and 
he  went  his  way  like  one  who  raises  his  hat 
to  a  colleague  and  knows  no  one  else,  while 
every  one  knows  him.  He  had  come  here  to 
make  his  world  small.  Had  he  succeeded? 
What  had  he  found  here  that  would  bind  his 
thoughts  firmly,  and  could  take  the  place  of 
this  interest  in  everything  on  earth,  that  had 
become  such  an  intolerable  burden  to  him? 
He  went  for  long  country  walks,  but  forgot 
to  look  at  the  scenery;  he  brought  home 
plants,  but  finally  took  them  down  to  the 
kitchen;  he  read  novels  and  poetry,  but  they 
only  increased  his  thirst  for  the  great  heaving 
life  of  the  moment  all  over  the  world.  So  it 
was  the  papers  he  went  to  after  all,  the 
numerous  papers  from  Europe,  which  he 
hated,  but  which  unfolded  his  soul  and  gave 
him  the  dizzy  feeling  of  riding  huge,  heavy 
billows.  A  being  had  grown  up  within  him, 
which  greedily  and  inexorably  demanded  this 
nourishment,  and  it  was  stronger  than  his 
own  little  ego  which  he  sometimes  felt  as 
something  beautiful  and  peaceful  within  him. 


The  Face  of  the  World  187 

This  little  ego  kept  on  shrinking.  It  was 
being  eaten  up  by  the  other.  That  was  how 
it  was.  That  was  how  it  would  be.  The 
thing  was  to  endure  it  as  it  was. 

This  evening 'he  was  sitting  at  home  in 
the  drawing-room,  bending  over  JLe  Temps, 
while  his  mother  knitted  by  the  window.  The 
last  rays  of  the  sun  were  shining  across  the 
floor,  and  through  the  open  window  came  the 
sound  of  the  sea.  Fru  Mark  had  gold-rimmed 
eyeglasses  on  her  nose,  and  as  she  bent  her 
head  to  count  her  stitches,  there  was  a  serious, 
thoughtful  look  on  her  delicate  face. 

Now  and  again  she  glanced  at  this  son  of 
hers,  but  shrank  from  speaking  to  him.  It 
seemed  to  her  too  that  they  had  become 
greater  strangers  to  one  another  since  he 
came  home.  It  was  as  though  she  could  not 
get  hold  of  him.  He  always  slipped  away. 
He  hid  himself.  When  he  spoke,  it  was  in 
grim  humor  that  was  only  a  grimace.  What 
did  he  think  of  her?  Had  he  any  respect  for 
what  she  had  accomplished  here?  Why  did  he 
make  no  friends?    Why  was  there  no  one  he 


188  The  Face  of  the  World 

associated  with?  Why  was  he  so  indifferent 
to  women?  What  in  the  world  could  she  do 
to  bring  back  some  of  the  bright  gaiety  that 
had  once  made  him  such  a  favorite  with 
every  one? 

"What  are  you  reading?"  she  asked  at 
last. 

He  let  the  paper  fall,  turned  round  in  his 
chair,  and  looked  at  her  absently  for  a  little 
while. 

"Mother!"  he  said  at  last.  "Can  you  tell 
me  what  the  politicians  in  all  the  Christian 
countries  do?" 

"No,  indeed!  You  know  more  about  that 
than  I  do,  my  dear." 

"And  what  they  use  their  armies  for?  Oh, 
well,  that's  true — the  armies  are  only  a  crowd 
of  waiters  on  the  financiers.  They  go  out  and 
rob  their  neighbors  when  Bank-Manager  So- 
and-So  needs  a  piece  of  their  property.  But 
I  was  reading  here  of  the  latest  massacres  in 
Armenia.  The  Turkish  soldiers  are  having  a 
merry  time,  and  they  make  a  mother  look  on 
while  her  child  is  dashed  to  pieces  against  the 


The  Face  of  the  World  189 

font  in  the  church.  And  what  do  you  think 
she  does?  She  tears  out  her  own  eyes,  and 
cries  that  God  must  have  gone  mad.  God! 
Mad!    Not  so  bad,  was  it?" 

Fru  Mark  let  her  knitting  fall  upon  her 
lap.  She  gazed  at  him,  but  the  expression 
on  his  face  made  her  afraid  to  say  anything. 

He  threw  down  the  paper,  rose,  and  began 
to  walk  up  and  down.  "You  sigh,  mother, 
and  by  tomorrow  you'll  have  forgotten  it,  and 
a  good  thing  too;  and  all  over  the  world 
people  are  reading  this  now,  and  they  sigh 
and  will  have  forgotten  it  by  tomorrow.  But 
I  ask  myself,  mother,  what  does  the  policy 
of  the  great  Christian  Powers  aim  at,  when 
such  things  as  this  can  happen?  And  they 
happen  now,  and  will  happen  tomorrow,  and 
next  year;  and  kings  and  presidents  and 
ministers  and  bishops  all  over  Europe  sleep 
well.  But  I  also  ask  myself  what  the  social- 
ists really  want,  what  the  revolutionaries  want. 
Are  they  only  fighting  about  pots  and  pans? 
I  am  certain  that  when  they  get  the  power 
into  their  own  hands,  they'll  be  just  as  coarse 


190  The  Face  of  the  World 

and  brutal  as  the  others;  and  thus  all  the 
battles  will  be  wasted,  all  the  fine  speeches 
thrown  away.  Over  and  over  again!  And 
therefore  it'll  always  be  the  same  problem, 
mother — What  really  is  man?  I  have  dis- 
sected many,  and  rummaged  about  in  many 
brains,  and  studied  psychiatry  and  psychology, 
and  seen  and  learnt  a  little;  but  man — ^what 
in  the  world  is  man?" 

He  walked  slowly  backwards  and  forwards, 
with  now  and  then  a  nervous  movement  of 
his  hand  through  his  beard.  It  irritated  him 
that  his  mother  could  sit  there  so  calmly  and 
look  at  him.  She  did  not  tremble:  it  was 
too  far  off.  It  was  probably  only  like  a 
play  to  her.  He  suddenly  went  to  the  door. 
He  must  get  out  into  the  open  air. 

"Harold!"  she  called. 

"Good-night!"  he  said. 

"No,  don't  go,  Harold!  Come  and  sit 
down!  There's  something  I  want  to  talk  to 
you  about." 

He  stopped  at  the  door.  "What's  the  mat- 
ter now?" 


The  Face  of  the  World  191 

"Come  and  sit  down!  You  surely  aren't 
too  busy?" 

He  sat  down  with  his  hands  on  his  knees, 
and  looked  expectantly  at  her. 

"What  I  wanted  to  say,  Harold,  was  that 
latterly,  at  any  rate,  you  haven't  cared  about 
anything  except  what  was  very  far  away. 
God  knows  that  this  with  the  Armenians  is 
dreadful,  but  neither  you  nor  I  can  help 
them.  But  there  are  people  in  this  very  town 
who  are  suffering,  suffering  terribly.  Have 
you  heard  about  Ivar  Holth?" 

"No,  mother,  I  haven't,  and  I  tell  you 
honestly  it'll  do  no  one  any  good  by  telling 
me  about  him  either.  If  he's  a  person  who's 
really  unhappy,  as  you  say,  then  neither  you 
nor  I  can  help  him,  I  suppose;  and,  besides, 
my  life  is  simply  divided  up  into  little  bits 
by  thinking  of  all  the  unfortunate  beings  on 
this  earth.  That's  the  stupidity  of  it!  Why 
the  deuce  should  I  mix  myself  up  in  things 
that  don't  concern  me?  Tell  me  something 
pleasant,  mother!  Give  me  the  name  of  a 
newspaper  that  brings  a  little  sunshine  into 


192  The  Face  of  the  World 

one's  mind,  and  I'll  go  out  at  once  and  put 
my  name  down  for  it!" 

He  slapped  his  knees  with  his  hands,  and 
rose,  still  in  a  state  of  excitement.  His 
mother  sighed  and  was  silent ;  and  after  stand- 
ing for  a  moment,  Harold  went  out  and 
downstairs. 

An  hour  later  he  returned,  however,  and 
was  calmer.  He  went  to  his  mother,  who 
was  still  sitting  in  the  same  place,  and  kissed 
her  on  the  forehead,  then  sat  down,  and,  tak- 
ing her  knitting  away  from  her,  laid  it  on  a 
chair. 

"Don't  be  angry  with  me,  mother,"  he  said, 
"for  being  so  impossible !  Now  tell  me  what's 
wrong  with  that  fellow!  Ivar  Holth  was  his 
name,  wasn't  it  ?" 

So  his  mother  began  to  tell  him,  and 
Harold's  attention  was  aroused.  This  was 
not  a  case  of  a  man  who  was  ruined  by  drink 
or  poverty.  This  was  not  the  fault  of  society. 
This  was  only  a  man  who  had  become  a  prey 
to  himself  and  a  prey  to  others.  It  was  im- 
possible to  place  his  case  in  the  usual  cate- 


The  Face  of  the  World  193 

gories.  Even  if  the  world  were  some  day  to 
be  ruled  with  perfect  justice,  a  thing  like  this 
might  still  happen.    Man — do  you  know  man? 

When  she  had  finished  he  sat  looking  out  of 
the  "wandow,  running  his  fingers  through  his 
beard. 

"And  the  sister,  poor  thing!"  he  said  at 
last.    "Has  she  any  one  to  look  after  her?" 

"IVe  been  to  see  her  today,  but  unfortu- 
nately it's  as  you  say:  'What  is  there  we  can 
do?'  " 

"I  could  go  and  have  a  talk  with  him," 
said  Harold.  "I  suppose  they'd  let  me  into 
the  prison." 

A  couple  of  daj'^s  later  he  was  sitting  read- 
ing in  his  study,  when  some  one  knocked  and 
Ivar  Holth  entered,  dressed  in  a  blue  smock 
and  big  workmen's  boots. 

"Excuse  my  showing  myself  like  this,  sir, 
but  I've  come  straight  from  work." 

"Sit  down,  Herr  Holth!" 

But  Holth  remained  standing.  "I  only 
kWanted  to  come  up  at  once,"  he  said,  "and 
thank  you  for  what  you've  done  for  me." 


194  The  Face  of  the  World 

"I?"  said  Harold  in  astonishment,  as  he 
mechanically  placed  a  paper-knife  in  the  book 
he  was  reading.  "Have  I  done  anything  for 
you?'* 

"Yes;  that  day  you  came  down  to  the 
prison,  you  spoke  to  others  besides  me,  and 
I've  heard  that  you  went  to  the  King's  Coun- 
sel and — and  that  you  ended  by  giving  a  kind 
of  bail  for  me." 

"Oh,  nonsense!" 

Holth  flushed  slightly  as  he  stood  playing 
nervously  with  his  cap,  but  at  last  he  looked 
up.  "It's  onty  that  I  don't  understand" — 
he  said — "how  you  could  do  anything  of  the 
sort,  sir,  because  you  know  nothing  about 
me. 

"Have  you  got  anything  to  do  now, 
Holth?" 

"Yes,  I've  got  work  on  the  quay,  at  Som- 
merfeldt's.  But  it  was  Fru  Mark  who  helped 
there." 

Harold  looked  at  this  strange  man,  who 
spoke  like  a  head-clerk,  and  stood  there  in  the 
clothes  of  a  dock-laborer.    His  face  was  pale 


The  Face  of  the  World  195 

and  his  eyes  were  sunken  and  surrounded  by 
shadows.  There  was  one  town  in  the  world 
where  he  had  to  run  the  gauntlet  every  day, 
and  that  was  the  town  in  which  he  wanted 
to  live.    Do  you  know  man? 

"I'm  sorry  to  say  I  have  a  favor  to  ask 
of  j^ou,  sir.  It  was  if  you  would  come  up 
and  see  my  sister." 

"Is  your  sister  ill?" 

"She  always  has  a  cough.  If  you  had  time, 
would  you  mind  going  with  me  to  see 
whether  it's  anything  serious.  I'm  very  sorry 
to  trouble  you  to  go  to  her,  but  I  shall  never 
in  this  world  get  her  to  go  to  a  doctor  her- 
self." 

"Will  you  wait  a  minute  while  I  ring  up 
the  hospital?"  And  Holth  heard  him  say 
through  the  telephone:  "Hullo!  Is  that 
Sister  Alma?  How  is  the  boy  that  got  the 
shot  in  his  head?  Is  he  conscious  now? — And 
temperature? — Good!  I'll  look  in  later  this 
evening.    Good-bye !" 

In  a  little  while  they  were  walking  to- 
gether through  the  town.     Just  now  there 


196  The  Face  of  the  World 

was  nobody  so  much  talked  about  as  these 
two,  and  people  stared.  'Near  the  New 
Church,  the  brown  brick  building  up  on  the 
hill,  they  passed  Lawyer  Gundahl,  who  was 
taking  an  evening  stroll  with  his  wife.  When 
they  had  gone  past,  the  lawyer  turned,  and 
adjusted  his  spectacles  to  look  at  them,  say- 
ing: "Do  you  see  that?  We  may  have  some 
fun  out  of  that." 

Holth  opened  the  door  of  the  little  cottage, 
and  let  the  doctor  go  in  before  him.  The 
children  were  all  in  bed,  and  could  be  heard 
chattering  in  the  next  room.  The  young 
mother  was  sitting  sewing.  She  rose  with  an 
expression  of  astonishment  on  her  face,  and 
then  hastened  to  clear  away  some  children's 
clothes  that  had  been  left  on  a  chair. 

"This  is  the  patient,"  said  Holth.  "And 
this  is  the  doctor,  Inga,"  he  went  on,  turning 
to  his  sister.  "You  mustn't  mind  our  taking 
you  by  surprise,  but  now  you've  got  to  go 
through  with  it  anyhow." 

His  sister  blushed.  "But  there's  nothing 
the  matter  with  me,  Ivar,"  she  stammered. 


The  Face  of  the  World  197 

looking  at  the  doctor.  "Whatever  have  you 
got  into  your  head?" 

"Well,  now  you  must  be  good  enough  to  let 
the  doctor  examine  your  chest.  I'll  go  and 
wait  outside.'* 

Ivar  walked  up  and  down  the  little  garden 
in  suspense.  Suppose  it  were  already  too  late 
to  save  his  sister,  there  would  one  day  be 
four  little  children  who  had  neither  father 
nor  mother. 

At  last  the  doctor  came  out.  Ivar  hastened 
up  to  him,  saying:  "Well,  sir,  what  do  you 
think?" 

Harold  stood  still  and  lighted  a  cigar. 
"Would  you  like  to  come  for  a  walk  with 
me?"  he  asked.  f 

"A  walk!  We  two!"  Ivar  involuntarily 
glanced  at  his  clothes.  "No,  thank  you;  I 
shall  be  satisfied  if  you  will  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  my  sister." 

"Nonsense!  Come  along  and  have  a  httle 
walk  with  me — up  the  high-road.  It  won't 
do  you  any  harm." 


198  The  Face  of  the  World 

The  result  was  that  Ivar  went  in  and  put 
on  another  coat  and  went  with  the  doctor. 

It  was  not  until  they  were  outside  the  town 
on  the  road  that  ran  at  the  front  of  the 
precipitous  cliffs  along  the  bay,  that  Harold 
stopped  and  looked  at  his  companion. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "Your  sister  would  need 
to  go  to  a  sanatorium  as  soon  as  possible." 

Holth  turned  pale  and  gazed  at  him.  "Then 
— then  she  is  really  bad!"  he  said. 

"As  far  as  I  can  tell  after  this  one  exami- 
nation, she  is  not  so  bad  but  that  she  might 
get  over  it  if  it  were  only  taken  at  once.  But 
I  suppose  it  will  not  be  very  easy  for  her  to 
leave  the  children?" 

Ivar  was  not  listening.  He  took  off  his 
cap  and  wiped  his  brow,  and  looked  out  over 
the  bay.  "Is  that  so?"  he  said  as  if  to  him- 
self. "And— and  it's  my  fault!"  He  breathed 
heavily  and  wiped  his  brow  again. 

"Let's  go  on  a  little  farther,"  Harold  sug- 
gested. 

When  Ivar  Holth  that  evening  went  home 
alone  from  the  white  house,  he  walked  with 


The  Face  of  the  World  199 

an  unsteady  step.  He  was  thinking  of  his 
sister — that  was  one  thing — and  of  the  doctor 
having  treated  him  as  an  equal — that  was  the 
second  thing.  He  was  confused  and  be- 
wildered. Yes,  Dr.  Mark  had  called  him 
Herr  Holth  all  the  time.  He  had  spoken 
in  a  tone  that  was  neither  condescending  nor 
dictatorial,  but  only  pleasant;  and  when  they 
separated  he  said  that  they  must  soon  have 
another  walk  like  that.    Did  he  mean  it? 

Ivar  Holth  went  to  bed  and  drew  the 
clothes  over  his  head.  Ah,  he  had  continually 
fallen  lower,  both  in  his  own  and  in  others' 
eyes,  and  a  few  days  ago  he  was  deep  down  in 
the  abyss;  but  then  a  strange  hand  had  ap- 
peared and  drawn  him  up  again.  He  had 
now  risen  so  high  that  he  could  once  more 
walk  freely  about  the  streets,  and  once  more 
be  the  laughing-stock  of  the  town;  but  sup- 
pose the  doctor  meant  to  lift  him  still  higher 
— ^what  then? 

"I'm  a  shipwrecked  man,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "and  the  one  wave  beats  me  down  into 
the  depths,  and  the  next  lifts  me  high  up  into 


200  The  Face  of  the  World 

the  light  again;  but  can  I  bear  all  this? 
Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  remain  down  there, 
and  get  peace  at  last?" 

A  couple  of  days  later  a  piece  of  news 
dropped  upon  the  town  like  a  bomb.  A  new 
post,  that  of  steward,  had  been  created  at  the 
Seaside  Hospital,  with  a  salary  of  £170  per 
annum;  and  the  senior  physician  had  ap- 
pointed Ivar  Holth. 

There  was  a  commotion  in  the  club  when 
the  Evening  Paper  was  brought  in.  Lawyer 
Gundahl  trotted  round,  rubbing  his  withered 
hands.  Dr.  Prahl  sat  for  a  little  while  look- 
ing straight  before  him,  his  face  growing 
redder  and  redder;  then  he  suddenly  rose, 
took  up  his  hat  and  stick,  and  going  out  into 
the  street,  turned  up  towards  the  white  house. 


XIII 

Harold  was  sitting  at  the  supper-table 
with  his  mother  when  the  maid  came  in  and 
announced  that  Dr.  Prahl  had  come,  and 
would  like  to  speak  to  Dr.  Mark  privately. 

"Very  well,"  said  Harold,  folding  up  his 
napkin.    "Ask  Dr.  Prahl  up  into  my  study!" 

"Now  youVe  got  a  visitor!"  whispered  his 
mother,  looking  at  him.  "And  I  suppose 
you've  no  doubt  as  to  what  he's  come  for." 

"Poor  me !"  said  Harold  smiUng  as  he  rose. 
"I  mustn't  let  the  man  wait." 

This  matter  of  Ivar  Holth  was  something 
he  had  settled  without  its  having  made  any 
great  impression  on  himself.  Why  in  the 
world  then  should  the  town  interfere  in  it? 

When  he  went  upstairs,  he  found  the 
portly  gentleman  standing  in  the  middle  of 
the  room  with  his  straw  hat  in  one  hand  and 
his  stick  in  the  other.    He  bowed  stiffly,  and 

201 


202  The  Face  of  the  World 

Harold  tried  to  imitate  him  by  bowing  just  as 
stiffly. 

They  looked  at  one  another  for  a  moment. 
Harold  pointed  to  a  chair;  Dr.  Prahl  looked 
round,  caught  sight  of  the  chair,  sat  down, 
placed  his  stick  between  his  legs,  held  his  hat 
over  one  knee,  and  cleared  his  throat.  Harold 
seated  himself  at  his  writing-table,  leaned 
back,  and  met  the  other's  eyes.  The  situation 
was  comical;  neither  of  them  had  as  yet 
spoken  a  word. 

Dr.  Prahl  cleared  his  throat  again.  "You 
were  good  enough  to  call  on  me,  Dr.  Mark," 
he  said.  "I  was  sorry  not  to  have  been  at 
home.  And  so  we  have  not,  I  think,  met 
one  another  before,  not,  at  any  rate,  since  you 
were  a  boy.  Ah  yes,  by  the  bye!  At  the 
medical  meeting  in  Christiania  two  or  three 
years  ago." 

"Very  possibly,"  said  Harold,  stroking  his 
beard.  "Yes,  I  remember,  now  you  mention 
it." 

Dr.  Prahl  shifted  his  position,  and  his  face 
flushed  a  little. 


The  Face  of  the  World  203 

"I  have — hm — followed  your  career.  Dr. 
Mark.  You  have  always  interested  me  as — 
as  a  phenomenon." 

"Thank  you!'*  said  Harold  with  a  smile, 
taking  up  a  paper-knife  and  passing  it 
through  his  fingers. 

"You  are  a  great  idealist,  but  of  the  one- 
eyed  type,  be  it  said;  and  for  that  very  reason 
you  are — if  you  will  excuse  my  saying  so — 
a  dangerous  person." 

"Thank  you!" 

"It  is  being  said  in  the  town  that  you  have 
given  this  Ivar  Holth  the  appointment  of 
steward  at  the  hospital." 

"That  is  so." 

"It  is  not  a  joke  then?" 

"A  joke?" 

"You  did  not  wish  to  give  capable  and 
esteemed  men  in  this  town  the  opportunity 
to  apply  for  such  a  comparatively  good  post?" 

"It's  so  easy  for  esteemed  men  to  get  good 
posts." 

"It  was  perhaps  your  deliberate  intention 
to  appoint  a  person  of  unsound  mind?" 


204  The  Face  of  the  World 

"Excuse  me,  but  I  thought  this  was  a  mat- 
ter between  the  Department  and  me." 

"Now,  Dr.  Mark,  you  can  of  course  show 
me  the  door  and  decline  to  have  any  inter- 
ference on  my  part;  but  you  mustn't  forget 
that  we're  both  stubborn  men.  I  know  what 
I'm  about  in  coming  here." 

"What  do  you  want  then?" 

"I  would  very  seriously  counsel  you  to 
reconsider  the  matter  for  your  own  sake.  Do 
it  this  very  day!    Ivar  Holth  is  mad." 

"Nonsense!    He  is  not  mad." 

"I  know  more  about  that  than  you  do.  He 
has  long  been  dulled  and  deaf  to  the  very 
centre  of  all,  namely  his  own  dignity." 

"That  is  what  I  want  to  restore  to  him." 

"You!" 

"Yes,  I,"  said  Harold,  bending  forward. 

"Then  the  position  of  steward  is  to  be  a 
medicine?"  And  Dr.  Prahl  laughed  scorn- 
fully and  wiped  his  forehead  with  his  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

"I  dcm't  think  there  is  any  use  in  our  talk- 
ing about  this  matter  any  longer,"  said  Har- 


The  Face  of  the  World  205 

old.  "Ivar  Holtli  is  a  clever  accountant.  I 
have  that  from  his  former  employer." 

"Do  you  know  that  he's  been  in  prison?" 

"So  had  Bishop  Skrefsrud." 

"And  what  if  the  man's  madness  develops 
further,  and  he  one  day  kills  people?" 

"Oh,  Dr.  Prahl,  how  can  you  J" 

"Well,  I've  warned  you !  Afterwards,  when 
it's  too  late,  you  can  come  with  the  excuse 
that  you  meant  well;  but  then  I  shall  stand 
up  and  say  that  there  is  a  kind  of  philanthropy 
that  is  criminal.  I  have  told  you  so  today; 
and  if  you  answer  that  you  take  the  re- 
sponsibility, then  I  say  to  you:  *If  the  man 
sets  fire  to  the  town  some  day,  what  good 
can  your  responsibility  be  to  us?' " 

"I  think  that  now  you've  explained  this 
sufficiently  clearly,"  said  Harold. 

Dr.  Prahl  rose.  He  was  crimson  with 
vexation,  and  had  to  use  his  handkerchief 
again. 

"Well,  now  you  know  what  all  the  town 
thinks  about  this." 

"I'm  sorry,  but " 


206  The  Face  of  the  World 

" — ^But  it  naturally  does  not  interest  you  to 
know  what  a  whole  town  thinks  of  your  ac- 
tions." 

"No." 

"ISTo,  of  course  not."  Dr.  Prahl  bowed  and 
turned  to  the  door.  Harold  rose  to  accom- 
pany him  downstairs,  but  the  other  turned 
as  he  placed  his  hand  on  the  door-knob. 

"I  regret,  though.  Dr.  Mark,  that  you 
won't  give  me  any  explanation  of  this  re- 
markable action;  for  you  see" — ^he  looked 
down  at  his  straw  hat — "I  should  be  sorry  if 
you  continued  to  lead  such  a  solitary  life." 

"Explanation?  Are  you  so  anxious  for  an 
explanation?" 

"Yes.  I  talk  to  so  many  people,  you 
know." 

"For  goodness'  sake,  don't  bring  in  the 
many!  But  between  ourselves  I  may  say: 
Show  Ivar  Holth  a  little  forbearance!  You 
who  talk  to  so  many  people,  remember  that. 
I  suppose  we  agree  in  believing  that  every 
man  has  in  him  material  both  for  heaven  and 
hell;  but  when  once  he  begins  to  go  down,  the 


The  Face  of  the  World  207 

world  comes  and  pushes,  and  wants  him  to 
go  down  still  more  quickly.  I  will  ask  you 
not  to  help  with  that.  As  for  me,  I  have 
striven  to  the  hest  of  my  ahihty  for  so  many 
things,  but; " 

"You  have  indeed!    Ha,  ha  I" 

" — But  I've "  he  became  almost  em- 
barrassed as  he  leaned  against  the  writing- 
table — "I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  if 
you  can  save  a  single  human  being  from 
going  to  the  dogs,  it's  better  than  fighting  for 
ten  programs." 

"Hm  I"  The  other  blew  his  nose  loudly  and 
looked  towards  the  window.  "So  that  is  your 
— your  explanation?" 

"Take  it  as  you  will.  But  we  doctors  try 
cures  upon  so  many  who  nevertheless  die.  Sup- 
pose that  once  in  a  while  we  could  succeed 
in — in  helping  a  human  being  over  a  purely 
moral  difficulty?" 

"It's  a  sheer  impossibility  to  help  Ivar 
Holth." 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"Think I    No,  no!    This  is  a  kind  of  ideality 


208  The  Face  of  the  World 

again,  isn't  it?  You  imagine  you  can  save 
Ivar  Holth  by  vaguely  going  about  and  be- 
lieving in  him." 

"Well,  honestly — if  we  lose  what  we  call 
faith — for  instance  faith  in  mankind — why  in 
Heaven's  name  do  we  want  to  heal  them?" 

"That  sounds  well,  but  in  this  instance 
your  faith  is  criminal  folly,  which  is  what  a 
doctor  should  be  the  last  to  engage  in.  And 
now  I've  said  my  say,  and  I  wash  my  hands 
of  the  whole  business.    Good  evening!" 

When  the  doctor  had  gone,  Harold  re- 
mained standing  at  the  window  to  collect  his 
thoughts.  "The  old  fool!"  he  thought,  and 
smiled.  "What  in  the  world  does  it  matter  to 
him!  But  I  was  frightfully  solemn  myself, 
and  talked  about  rescuing  and  faith,  and  about 
its  being  better  to  raise  one  poor  wretch  than 
to  fight  for  ten  programs.  Did  I  mean  it? 
Goodness  knows  whether  I  didn't  mean  it  I 
Well,  well!" 

Dr.  Prahl,  however,  walked  past  the  quays 
in  a  strange  condition  of  mind.  Something 
within  him  told  him  that  when  he  was  young 


The  Face  of  the  World  209 

he  might  have  behaved  exactly  hke  Harold 
Mark.  Why,  then,  had  he  made  so  much  fuss? 
Why  had  he  interfered  in  the  confounded 
matter?    What  business  was  it  of  his? 

Dr.  Prahl  was  in  reality  a  warm-hearted 
man.  He  would  wilHngly  go  out  to  the 
islands  to  see  sick  fishermen  who,  he  knew, 
were  unable  to  pay  him  a  farthing;  and  he 
had  many  a  time  given  a  poor  old  woman 
both  a  prescription  and  a  few  coppers  to  go 
to  the  chemist's  with.  But  he  had  a  weak- 
ness, and  that  was  that  he  liked  to  act  pope. 
If  anything  happened  in  the  town  that  he 
had  no  share  in,  he  inflated  himself  and 
thundered.  He  had  once  set  afloat  this  as- 
sertion that  Ivar  Holth  was  mad.  He  was 
not  quite  sure  that  it  was  the  case,  but  when 
he  had  said  a  thing,  a  great  many  people  be- 
lieved that  it  must  be  so.  "Dr.  Prahl  says 
so  too,"  they  would  say.  But  now  perhaps 
Harold  Mark  would  triumph  some  day.  You 
false  prophet!  You  gossip  I  You  old  fool! 
Well,  we  shall  see! 

To  save  by  faith  in  mankind.    Ha!    Ivar 


210  The  Face  of  the  World 

Holth  was  to  be  saved  by  human  faith.  Dr. 
Prahl  could  not  restrain  himself;  he  handed 
over  the  phrase  to  be  laughed  to  scorn  by 
the  town;  and  though  he  was  a  little  ashamed 
when  he  did  it,  the  first  person  he  repeated 
it  to  was  Lawyer  Gundahl.  They  were  just 
words  that  would  raise  a  laugh  all  over  the 
town. 

Afterwards  whenever  he  met  Ivar  Holth, 
he  scanned  him  with  severe  eyes.  "I  have  said 
you'll  be  an  incendiary  some  day,  or  a 
murderer,  and  we  shall  see.'*  And  it  was  as 
though,  without  knowing  it  himself,  he  ex- 
erted his  will-power  as  he  looked  at  him,  as 
if  to  force  him  to  commit  these  crimes  at 
once,  so  that  he  could  gain  his  point. 


XIV 

It  was  in  the  hot  days  of  July,  and  the 
town  lay  in  a  blue  haze.  Haymaking  had 
begun  along  the  shore,  and  this  was  the  time 
when  the  young  Consul  Mohn  held  his  an- 
nual summer  ball  at  his  country-house  on  an 
island  off  the  coast. 

Harold  Mark  was  invited,  and  Harold 
Mark  accepted.  Both  things  were  unex- 
pected; but  his  mother  was  now  sitting  alone 
at  the  dinner-table  while  he  walked  up  and 
down  in  the  room  overhead,  dressing. 

The  footsteps  sounded  so  cheerful,  and  he 
was  humming  a  tune.  He  was  looking  for- 
ward to  the  evening.  She  could  hardly  be- 
lieve that  it  was  he  walking  about  overhead 
and  singing. 

Fru  Mark  had  also  sung  like  that  when 
she  was  a  young  girl  going  to  a  ball,  but  that 
was  long  ago;  and  she  wondered  whether  the 
seriousness  acquired  in  her  long  life  of  labor 

211 


212  The  Face  of  the  World 

had  not  also  cast  a  cold  shadow  over  her  son 
when  he  was  young  and  gay. 

He  was  still  singing.  Great  heavens,  how 
he  sang  I 

He  was  standing  in  his  shirt-sleeves  in 
front  of  the  mirror,  struggling  with  his  collar- 
stud.  "jSTow,  you  idiot!  won't  you?  At  last! 
But  that  tie's  got  a  spot  on  it."  He  went  to 
the  drawers  and  turned  them  over. 

"Ah,  mother!  Have  you  come  to  see  how 
fine  I'm  going  to  be?  Today  I'm  going  to  put 
on  a  white  waistcoat  and  dress  coat.  Have 
you  ever  seen  me  so  smart  before?" 

"No,  my  dear,  not  for  a  long  time,  at  any 
rate."  She  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  and  looked 
at  him  with  loving,  smiling  eyes. 

"That  rose  of  j^ours,  mother,  down  there  on 
the  wall,  has  such  a  scent  that  it  makes  me 
drunk.  Things  hke  that  ought  to  have  a 
temperance  society  too,  don't  you  think  so?" 

"Now  you  must  dance  a  great  deal,"  said 
his  mother,  "and  choose  a  very  pretty  part- 
ner. 

"Do  you  know  I'm  dancing-mad  in  every 


The  Face  of  the  World  213 

muscle!  And  now  I  understand  why  I've 
wanted  to  root  out  all  the  evil  in  the  world. 
It  was  so  as  to  have  a  good  conscience  to  put 
my  arm  round  girls'  waists  and  just  dream 
and  dance.  What  time  is  it?"  He  looked  at 
his  watch  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"Well,  good-bye  then,  little  mother!"  He 
went  to  her,  and  taking  her  head  between  his 
hands,  smiled  down  into  her  face,  and  finally 
sat  down  beside  her  on  the  sofa  for  a  moment, 
with  his  arm  round  her  shoulders. 

"You  sit  here  like  a  patient  mater  dolorosa 
for  the  whole  world !  That  must  be  why  your 
hair's  become  so  gray." 

"Now,  why  will  you  always  talk  nonsense 
when  you  talk  to  me,  Harold?" 

"Why,  you  know  perfectly  well,  mother, 
that  there's  nothing  but  nonsense  in  me.  Now, 
for  instance,  I'm  going  to  play  pope-joan  with 
the  devil  for — for  Ivar  Holth.  The  prophet 
Prahl  will  probably  hold  the  cards  for  the 
evil  one,  and  all  the  town  will  look  on  as  at  a 
play.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Isn't  that  amusing? 
That's  the  kind  of  trifle  I  enliven  myself  with 


214  The  Face  of  the  World 

now — I  who  once  dreamed  of  becoming  a 
great  man — Well,  I  suppose  it's  time.  Good- 
bye!" 

"Don't  forget  to  take  a  warm  coat  with 
you!  You'll  be  warm  after  dancing,  and  it's 
cold  on  the  water." 

The  little  steamer  sailed  out  of  the  bay, 
looking  as  if  it  were  filled  with  flowers  of 
every  hue;  but  they  were  people  in  bright 
summer  attire — coats,  dresses  and  straw  hats. 
A  little  band  began  playing,  and  the  faces  on 
board  began  to  brighten.  Harold  was  stand- 
ing at  the  railing,  talking  to  Consul  Mohn's 
sister;  but  when  he  saw  something  white  be- 
gin to  wave  from  his  mother's  house,  he 
sprang  up  onto  a  seat  and  eagerly  waved  his 
straw  hat. 

Froken  Mohn  was  fair,  tall  and  stately. 
She  wore  a  light  cloak  and  a  veil  over  her  hat, 
and  she  looked  at  him  with  a  peculiar  smile. 

"You're  fond  of  your  mother,  I  can  see, 
Dr.  Mark." 

"You've  no  idea  what  a  large  heart  IVe 
got,  Froken  Mohn;   so  beware!     I'm   quite 


The  Face  of  the  World  215 

unmanageable  when  I  start  in  that  direction." 

"You!"  She  laughed.  "You  who  shun  us 
all!  What  can  have  come  over  you  to  let  my 
brother  succeed  in  dragging  you  out  here  to- 
day?" 

"Why,  of  course,  it's  all  purely  a  matter  of 
calculation.  I  held  back  at  first.  I  know  how 
much  every  one  loves  me,  and  then  one 
oughtn't  to  give  way  at  once.  You,  being  a 
woman,  know  that." 

She  shook  her  head  and  smiled. 

It  was  a  hot  evening.  The  sun  stood  among 
flaming  clouds  far  down  in  the  west.  The 
water  lay  without  a  ripple,  and  it  was  only 
when  the  bay  widened  out  into  the  sea  that 
the  surface  was  ruffled  with  a  blue  breeze.  A 
world  of  islands  unfolded  themselves,  strewn, 
as  it  were,  all  over  the  broad  surface  of  wave- 
lets. Low  rocks  covered  with  seaweed,  and 
smooth  rocky  islets,  lay  in  groups  like  mother 
seabirds  with  their  young  ones  round  them. 
Great  animals  with  blind  faces  had  lain  down 
out  here,  and  in  their  shelter  stood  one  or  two 
gray  fisher-huts,  with  smoke  going  up  from 


216  The  Face  of  the  World 

their  chimneys.  Old  men  with  himaps  on 
their  backs  were  rising  out  of  the  sea  to  gaze 
into  the  west ;  and  there  a  giantess  had  waded 
out  from  the  mountain  and  sat  down  in  the 
sea  to  blow  upon  it.  Her  cauldron  lay  bot- 
tom upwards  beside  her,  and  over  it  tfifere 
now  wandered  large  flocks  of  hardy  sheep. 
Multitudes  of  white  gulls  sailed  overhead, 
screaming  and  calling,  gilded  by  the  sun;  the 
waves  foamed  at  the  foot  of  the  cliffs,  and 
there  was  a  smell  of  salt  sea,  of  seaweed  and 
of  green  things  wafted  over  to  the  steamer, 
that  made  nostrils  expand  and  eyes  brighten 
with  the  feehng  of  freshness,  while  the  band 
involuntarily  played  with  more  vigor. 

Harold  did  not  know  many  on  board,  but 
he  wandered  about,  giving  special  attention  to 
the  ladies.  He  had  once  more  made  an  ef- 
fort to  put  aside  all  seriousness,  and  today  he 
was  going  to  look  at  women.  He  knew  that 
to  many  of  them  the  consul's  ball  was  the 
event  of  the  year.  Lady  clerks  saved  up  their' 
white  dresses  from  year  to  year;  young  wives 
who  could  not  afford  to  keep  a  maid,  had  got 


The  Face  of  the  World  217 

their  mother-in-law  to  look  after  the  children, 
and  were  here  in  wedding-dresses  re-made; 
and  clerks  and  shop-assistants  were  among  the 
guests  today,  for  they  were  generally  the 
most  indefatigable  of  dancers. 

They  were  approaching  an  island  on  which 
stood  a  single  house,  a  large  white  one,  flying 
a  flag.  The  steamer  went  alongside  a  pier 
that  jutted  into  the  water  on  piles,  and  her 
passengers  streamed  ashore,  talking  gaily. 
Lawyer  Gundahl  was  running  about  with  a 
rose  in  his  buttonhole  and  a  word  for  every- 
body. A  dancing-floor  of  boards  had  been 
laid  down  on  the  flat  courtyard  behind  the 
house;  and  after  food  and  wine  had  been 
served  at  small  tables  among  the  fir-trees,  the 
band  began  to  play  and  the  couples  moved 
out. 

A  young  man  with  a  reddish  beard  and  eye- 
glasses came  out  of  the  house  with  a  white- 
haired  lady  on  his  arm.  She  held  back  a 
little,  but  he  drew  her  on,  and  as  they  passed 
Harold  the  young  man  said  with  a  smile: 
*'We  two  generally  open  the  ball,  but  mother 


218  The  Face  of  the  World 

had  hidden  herself  today."  It  was  Consul 
Mohn  and  his  mother. 

The  sinking  sun  was  sending  crimson  shafts 
across  the  green  water.  A  tall-masted 
schooner  stood  out  on  the  horizon  to  the 
south,  and  in  the  sunset  light  her  sails  were 
filled  with  purple  and  gold.  The  year  was 
so  far  advanced  that  the  evening  gradually 
became  dark  blue;  the  sun  disappeared,  the 
clouds  faded,  and  here  and  there  a  pale  star 
came  out,  while,  all  round  the  island,  bonfires 
were  lighted  and  rockets  sent  up. 

The  steamer  had  anchored  a  little  way  out, 
and  her  colored  fights  twinkled  across  the  dark 
water. 

Baskets  of  champagne  were  constantly  be- 
ing carried  to  a  long  table  under  the  fir-trees, 
and  every  now  and  then  the  consul's  voice 
was  heard  above  the  general  conversation, 
making  known  the  fact  that  fresh  suppHes  of 
the  strengthening  beverage  had  arrived. 

And  they  danced.  A  few  of  the  gentle- 
men began  to  grow  red  in  the  face,  and  to 
embrace  one  another  and  roar  with  laughter 


The  Face  of  the  World  219 

at  the  veriest  trifles.  Differences  in  business 
life  and  on  the  municipal  board  were  forgot- 
ten, and  men  drank  to  eternal  friendship  be- 
tween two  waltzes. 

And  Harold  danced.  He  felt  that  he  had 
regained  his  own  youth  again.  He  did  not 
care  much  for  these  men,  but  that  must  be  a 
fault  in  himself.  He  was  dancing  now.  Dr. 
Prahl  was  not  here,  but  innumerable  eyes  sent 
him  timid  glances  that  said:  "There  he  is  I" 
Well,  now  it  was  the  daughter  of  the  director 
of  police  with  whom  he  was  dancing  for  the 
fourth  time.  She  was  twenty,  red-haired, 
slim  and  pale,  and  with  the  most  mischievous 
brown  eyes  in  the  world.  Gay  little  feet  in 
white  shoes  were  once  more  tripping  about 
beside  his  own,  and  he  felt  little  breaths 
against  his  neck,  one  after  another.  And  the 
stars  were  above  them,  her  thin  yellow  dress 
harmonised  so  well  with  the  dusk,  the  water 
rose  and  fell  on  the  beach,  the  bonfires  gleamed, 
and  all  around  were  people  with  whom  he 
would  still  try  to  be  friends. 

By  degrees,  however,  he  became  quite  in- 


220  The  Face  of  the  World 

toxicated,  not  with  the  couple  of  glasses  of 
soda  water  he  had  drunk,  but  with  this  girl, 
with  the  dancing,  with  all  the  light  dresses, 
and  with  the  blessed  feeling  of  being  free, 
free  at  last  from  everything  painful  in  the 
^orld.  The  infinite  horizon  disappeared  from 
bis  mind,  the  ubiquitousness  of  his  thoughts 
closed  in,  and  there  was  nothing  left  but  they 
two,  they  two,  borne  upon  broad,  golden 
Waves  of  sound.  He  threw  back  his  head, 
and  held  the  young  girl  a  little  closer  to  him; 
the  measure  seemed  to  become  more  linger- 
ing, and  they  danced  to  a  secret  rhythm  of 
their  own  while  everything  round  them  van- 
ished. Man  at  play  is  divine,  and  he  was  now 
sheer  delight  in  the  great  f orgetfulness.  Eve ! 
What  a  little  name!  It  is  like  a  bunch  of 
white  flowers! 

People  stood  round  and  watched  them, 
whispered  together  and  laughed.  Now  they 
were  the  only  couple  on  the  floor,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  they  were  never  going  to  leave 
off. 

Lawyer  Gundahl  was  standing  at  the  long 


The  Face  of  the  World  221 

table  with  a  glass  in  his  hand  and  in  an 
elevated  mood.  "What!"  he  exclaimed,  ad- 
justing his  spectacles  to  look  at  the  two  that 
were  dancing.  "I  thought  that  man  there 
was  only  a  gramophone,  but  just  look!  He's 
really  a  human  being!" 

The  feeling  among  the  gentlemen  of  the 
town  had  been  rather  uncertain  on  account 
of  the  inclusion  of  this  revolutionist  among 
the  guests;  but  the  wine  and  the  dancing  had 
so  enlarged  all  minds,  that  they  were  ready 
to  forgive  all  the  world,  and  Lawyer  Gun- 
dahl  suddenly  jumped  up  on  to  a  form  and 
tapped  his  glass,  saying:  "Ladies  and  gentle- 
men!  " 

When  Harold  made  his  way  out  of  the 
circle  with  his  partner  on  his  arm,  a  young 
man  came  up  to  him  and  said:  "Dr.  Mark, 
you  must  really  come  up  to  the  table,  for 
Lawyer  Gundahl  is  making  a  speech  for 
you." 

"It  would  be  better  if  he  came  and  danced," 
was  all  the  reply  Harold  made  as  he  went  on. 
He  wanted  to  do  a  little  love-making  among 


222  The  Face  of  the  World 

the  rocks,  and  perhaps  find  an  ox-eyed  daisy  to 
decorate  his  lady-love  with. 

"Now,  Eve,  why  do  you  laugh  at  me  all 
the  time  like  that?" 

"My  name  isn't  Eve,  and,  moreover,  we 
haven't  dropped  titles,  though  that  may 
come  in  time;  and  besides  it's  so  funny  that 
you  don't  recognise  me  at  all." 

"Recognise  you?    Have  I  met  you  before?" 

"I'm  in  the  State  Telegraph  Office,  and  I 
don't  know  how  many  times  you've  come  to 
me  and  handed  in  telegrams." 

With  the  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun,  the 
steamer  came  in  among  the  rocks  again.  The 
party  had  been  so  successful  that  the  younger 
people  continued  dancing  on  deck,  while 
others  sat  wrapped  up  in  shawls,  leaning 
against  the  railing  and  trying  to  sleep. 

By  nine  o'clock  the  steamer  had  reached 
the  town,  and  half  an  hour  later  Harold  was 
far  out  along  the  shore,  bathing.  He  lay 
on  his  back  out  there,  and  let  himself  drift. 
Little  wavelets  washed  about  his  ears,  but  he 
rose  and  fell  on  the  fresh,  smooth  surface. 


The  Face  of  the  World  223 

Ah,  he  still  felt  so  light  and  free!  He 
could  look  at  sky  and  mountain  without  at 
the  same  time  thinking  of  a  thousand  other 
things.  A  solitary  strip  of  snow  still  lay  up 
there  on  a  mountain-top  and  blushed  in  the 
sun;  and  two  little  houses  on  a  green  patch 
hung  upon  the  steep  mountain  side  like  a 
picture  on  a  wall.  And  here  he  lay.  Could  he 
at  last  succeed  in  making  the  world  small  round 
him?  He  ought  to  have  a  wife  and  children, 
but  it  would  have  to  be  a  wife  who  would  go 
with  him  to  protest-meetings  against  the  mas- 
sacres in  Kiev,  ha,  ha!  "Thora!"  he  said  to 
himself.  "I  wonder  if  you're  still  in  Paris  I 
Have  you  really  two  Httle  ones?  I  wonder  if 
he's  good  to  you.  ...  So  the  little  girl  with 
the  red  hair  last  night  was  not  called  Eve,  but 
Elina.  Would  she  marry  me,  I  wonder?  To- 
morrow we're  going  for  a  walk  together,  she 
and  I." 

He  turned  over  and  swam  in  towards  land; 
but  before  going  to  the  hospital  he  went  home 
to  get  a  cup  of  coffee  and  see  if  the  foreign 
mail  had  arrived. 


XV 

It  was  a  strange  day  for  Ivar  Holth  when 
he  dressed  himself  to  go  and  begin  work  at 
his  new  post  at  the  hospital.  Yesterday  he 
was  a  dock-laborer  and  the  laughing- stools 
of  every  one;  today  he  was  going  to  walk 
through  the  town  again  as  a  well-dressed 
man,  and  how  would  he  manage  it?  When  he 
lay  on  the  ground,  people's  laughter  and 
scorn  were  matters  of  indifference  to  him; 
but  now,  in  these  clothes,  with  this  new  posi- 
tion, he  had  risen  into  another  atmospheric 
stratum,  and  the  desire  to  win  again  the 
esteem  of  others  was  awakened.  He  knew, 
however,  that  everybody  was  angry  with  Dr. 
Mark  for  having  given  him  the  appointment, 
and  he  dreaded  having  to  go  out  and  meet 
the  stony  glances  from  those  hundreds  of 
eyes.  It  was  as  if  he  were  not  sure  whether 
his  knees  would  manage  to  bear  him. 

Captain  Ilarrang  had  many  friends,  and 

224 


The  Face  of  the  World  225 

he  was  now  applying  for  his  removal  from 
the  town.  His  wife  was  the  beauty  of  the 
district,  and  the  gentlemen  were  going  to 
lose  her.  This  was  Holth's  fault.  It  was 
said  that  she  scarcely  dared  to  walk  in  the 
street  any  longer,  and  that  again  was  his  fault. 
Very  well,  but  they  might  set  their  minds  al 
rest  now;  he  was  done  with  all  that  nonsense. 
He  now  had  only  one  thought,  and  that  was 
that  his  benefactor.  Dr.  Mark,  should  not 
be  disappointed. 

He  came  out  of  his  room  into  the  sitting- 
room  in  his  blue  suit  and  white  collar.  His 
sister  was  sitting  sewing  by  the  window,  and 
raised  her  head  and  smiled  at  him.  The  chil- 
dren stopped  in  their  play  and  cried:  "Oh, 
Uncle  Ivar!  what  are  you  so  fine  for?"  He 
patted  them  on  the  head  and  his  sister  on 
the  cheek,  and  went  towards  the  door,  where 
he  suddenly  sank  on  to  a  chair. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  his  sister  as 
she  half  rose. 

"Oh,  nothing!"  he  said,  drawing  his  hand 
across    his    forehead,    and   trying   to    laugh. 


226  The  Face  of  the  World 

"It's  only  so  strange  that — ^that  this  is  me." 
He  looked  down  at  himself,  then  rose  sud- 
denly, said  "Good  morning,"  and  went  out. 
In  the  passage  he  put  on  his  straw  hat,  took 
his  coat  upon  his  arm  and  his  stick  in  his 
hand,  but  had  to  stand  at  the  door  for  a 
minute  to  pull  himself  together  again,  before 
he  went  out  to  meet  the  hundreds  of  eyes. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day.  It  had  rained  in 
the  night,  but  the  sun  was  just  beginning  to 
shine.  The  sound  of  a  steamer  whistle  came 
from  the  harbor,  and  a  three-master  was 
tacking  across  the  bay  to  get  out  into  the 
open.  It  was  the  hour  when  people  left  their 
homes  for  the  office  or  shop  in  the  town.  In 
former  days  Ivar  Holth  had  many  acquaint- 
ances among  the  younger  members  of  the 
commercial  class ;  but  when  he  drove  a  baker's 
cart  he  had  kept  his  head  down  when  he 
passed  them,  so  as  to  save  them  from  having 
to  recognise  him.  But  today?  Would  they 
know  him  again?  Would  their  faces  smile 
and  as  it  were  welcome  him  back?  Or  would 
they  shut  themselves  up  and  indicate  that  it 


The  Face  of  the  World  227 

would  never  be  of  any  use  for  him  to  try 
and  rise  again? 

So  he  started  on  his  walk.  He  met  the 
old  town  magistrate,  and  took  off  his  hat 
with  a  stylish  sweep.  The  white-haired  old 
gentleman  nodded  slightly  without  raising  his 
hand  to  his  hat,  and  looked  straight  before 
him  all  the  time.  "It'll  be  worse  when  I  meet 
men  I  know,"  thought  Ivar,  and  there  was 
one  of  them  coming  now,  Hvass,  the  bank 
manager.  He  and  Ivar  had  been  at  the  com- 
mercial college  together  in  olden  days,  and 
both  of  them  had  risen  steadily  until  the  one 
suddenly  fell.  Hvass  was  carrying  a  port- 
folio under  his  arm,  and  must  have  recognised 
Ivar  had  he  not  looked  so  obstinately  straight 
before  him.  At  this  moment  Ivar  had  a 
thousand  watchful  eyes.  He  took  off  his  hat. 
The  other  raised  his  hand  to  his,  and  went  on 
undisturbed.  Well,  Dr.  Prahl's  evil  prophecy 
had  come  to  Ivar's  ears,  so  it  had  probably 
gone  all  over  the  town.  He  was  a  dangerous 
person,  and  his  friends  were  quite  right  to 


228  The  Face  of  the  World 

be  on  their  guard;  but  he  knew  what  this 
meant. 

He  met  others  and  felt  fresh  stings,  and 
his  steps  quickened  Hke  the  steps  of  one  that 
flees.  He  met  Dr.  Prahl,  who  drew  himself 
up  and  swung  his  stick;  and  Ivar  dreaded 
meeting  his  glance,  which  he  knew  of  old, 
for  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  compel  him  to  do 
something  evil.  Outside  the  cathedral-school 
he  met  some  boys  with  books  under  their 
arms.  They  did  not  know  him  at  first,  but 
took  him  for  a  stranger.  Suddenly,  however, 
one  of  them  shouted:  "Thank  you,  three 
loaves  tomorrow!"  and  after  Ivar  had  passed, 
he  heard  them  singing  about  Potemkin.  At 
last  he  found  himself  inside  the  gates  of  the 
hospital,  and  stood  still  to  wipe  his  forehead 
and  take  a  good  breath. 

"Pull  yourself  together,  confound  you!"  he 
muttered.    "They  can't  do  you  any  harm!" 

It  was  so  reassuring  when  Dr.  Mark  came 
and  talked  in  a  pleasant,  natural  manner. 
They  went  round  and  decided  what  should 
come  under  his  administration.     He  was  to 


The  Face  of  the  World  229 

superintend  the  newly-installed  kitchen,  the 
accounts  and  the  provisioning.  He  also  had 
the  cash  in  his  keeping.  A  little  office  was 
prepared  for  him  in  the  back  building,  and 
all  he  had  to  do  was  to  start  work;  there  was 
no  magic  about  it,  and  as  head-clerk  he  had 
had  far  more  difficult  things  to  manage. 

"You're  getting  on  splendidly,"  said  Dr. 
Mark  that  evening.  "I  never  imagined  you 
would  get  through  so  much  in  one  day." 

Ivar  knew  this  was  intended  as  an  en- 
couragement, and  he  smiled;  but  it  did  him 
good  nevertheless.  If  only  the  doctor  would 
praise  him  out  in  the  town  too!  It  would 
feel  hke  a  counter-move,  and  it  might  even 
reach — her.  Her?  Was  he  really  still  think- 
ing about  Fru  Harrang?  No,  hang  it!  He 
had  done  with  that  nonsense  now!  It  was 
only  that  she  was  going  away — away  from 
the  town! 

He  grew  busy.  It  was  splendid  to  have 
plenty  to  do,  for  then  he  had  not  time  to 
think;  but  every  day  he  had  to  run  the  gaunt- 
let going  to  and  from  his  home.    Dr.  Prahl's 


230  The  Face  of  the  World 

evil  prophecy  seemed  to  gaze  at  him  out  of 
every  eye.  He  was  dangerous.  He  would 
end  with  murder  or  incendiarism.  It  was  al- 
most as  if  the  town  wanted  it,  and  as  if  this 
will  entered  into  him  and  almost  became  his 
own.  Oh  I  the  contorted  face  of  this  town! 
How  evilly  it  glared  into  his  mind!  He 
actually  felt  a  desire  to  let  it  gain  its  point; 
he  felt  something  within  him  that  wanted  to 
yield  to  and  humor  it.  If  he  had  only  had 
something  with  which  to  resist,  some  faithful 
friends  or  a  wife!  There  was  the  doctor,  of 
course;  but  one  man  beside  you  when  your 
knees  are  weak  and  you  have  to  face  the 
whole  world,  is  not  enough. 

He  had  his  father,  however,  the  old  parish 
clerk  out  on  the  island  Askoen,  to  write  to 
and  tell  of  his  good  fortune.  He  also  began 
to  borrow  books  from  Dr.  Mark.  Then 
there  was  his  sister,  whom  he  would  soon  be 
able  to  help  to  get  into  a  sanatorium.  But, 
above  all,  there  was  the  necessity  of  not  dis- 
appointing the  doctor.    All  this  was  certainly 


The  Face  of  the  World  231 

worth  a  struggle,  and  he  would  make  it  suc- 
ceed. 

A  group  of  gentlemen  were  standing  talk- 
ing outside  the  grocer's  shop.  They  were  Dr. 
Prahl,  Consul  Mohn,  Pastor  Larsen  and 
Lawyer  Gundahl. 

"Sh!"  said  the  lawyer,  as  Dr.  Mark  and 
the  new  steward  went  by  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street. 

Pastor  Larsen  was  a  small,  pale  man  with 
eager  gestures,  and  wore  spectacles. 

"So  those  are  the  two?"  he  said. 

"Precisely,"  said  the  lawyer.  "Those  are 
the  two." 

"Ye-es,"  said  Dr.  Prahl,  looking  another 
way  with  heightened  color.  Of  late  he  had 
become  excited  at  the  mere  sight  of  Ivar 
Holth. 

"You  doctors  are  rather  strange,"  said  the 
lawyer  pleasantly  to  this  imperious  gentle- 
man. "You  don't  always  agree.  One  of  you 
orders  a  lunatic  asylum,  and  the  other  writes 
a  prescription  for  faith  in  mankind." 

Dr.  Prahl  laughed  scornfully. 


232  The  Face  of  the  World 

"WJiat  does  Pastor  Larsen  think  about  it?" 
asked  Consul  Mohn  with  a  smile. 

"I  think,  of  course — and  I've  said  it  dis- 
tinctly enough  to  all  who've  asked  me — that 
if  anj^body's  to  be  saved  by  faith,  it  won't  at 
anj'^  rate  be  the  faith  of  his  fellow-creatures." 

"But  what  if  the  man  turns  out  to  be  both 
capable  and  steady?"  suggested  the  lawyer 
still  more  pleasantly  than  before. 

"Well,  I've  no  doubt  that  if  they  succeed 
in  keeping  that  fellow  out  of  prison,  this 
phrase  about  faith  in  mankind  will  become  a 
new  battle-cry  against  Christianity.  We're 
accustomed  to  all  sorts  of  things  from  that 
quarter.  Good  morning,  gentlemen!"  And 
the  excitable  little  man  put  up  his  umbrella 
as  a  protection  against  the  few  drops  of  rain 
that  were  falling,  and  went  his  way. 

*'I  believe  that  Dr.  Mark  uses  that  man  as 
an  object  of  study,"  continued  Lawyer  Gun- 
dahl.  "As  an  animal  for  vivisection.  In  the 
Pasteur  Institute  they  had  monkeys  for  that 
purpose;  but  here  he  has  found  Ivar  Holth. 
He's  his  chimpanzee,  he,  he  I    That  too  can  be 


The  Face  of  the  World  233 

called,  in  a  sense,  faith  in  mankind.  Ah!  you 
doctors!  I  shall  follow  the  example  of  his 
reverence  and  make  my  escape." 

It  sometimes  really  happens  that  a  small 
town  holds  together  in  some  particular  mat- 
ter, and  becomes  like  one  being.  Its  face,  its 
play  of  features  are  turned  in  the  same  direc- 
tion. One  day  it  needs  something  to  look  up 
to  in  common,  another  day  something  to  jeer 
at.  What  would  there  otherwise  be  to  talk 
about  when  people  went  to  see  one  another? 
People  go  to  church  and  to  picture-houses, 
they  weep  at  funerals  and  are  affected  by 
beautiful  music;  but  they  also  have  a  little 
laughter,  and  it  must  have  an  outlet.  If  once 
a  man  has  become  ridiculous,  it  will  be  diffi- 
cult for  him  to  be  taken  seriously  again.  The 
town  needs  him  as  a  laughing-stock.  To  take 
him  away,  to  raise  him,  becomes  almost  an 
injury.  A  man  who,  before  the  eyes  of  every 
one,  throws  himself  away  because  he  is  hope- 
lessly in  love  with  another  man's  wife,  has 
made  himself  ridiculous.  Another  man,  who 
tries  to  help  the  poor  fellow  up  again,  and 


234  The  Face  of  the  World 

openly  confesses  that  he  does  it  through  faith 
in  mankind,  makes  people  prick  up  their  ears. 
What?  In  reality  it  is  what  is  preached  in 
church,  and  it  is  beautiful  and  sublime;  but 
then  some  one  laughs,  then  two  more,  and 
then  they  will  all  see  that  they  must  save 
themselves  from  becoming  ridiculous,  and  so 
they  all  join  in.  Then  came  Lawyer  Gun- 
dahFs  remark  about  the  chimpanzee.  This 
ran  from  house  to  house,  and  even  serious 
people  could  not  help  laughing  aloud.  Then 
when  they  met  Holth  in  the  street,  they 
could  not  possibly  help  staring  at  him.  There 
comes  the  animal!  The  two  doctors  were 
playing,  as  it  were,  for  this  man;  which  of 
them  would  win?  Dr.  Prahl  was  a  highly- 
esteemed  man:  Dr.  Mark's  coming  had  been 
an  offence  to  the  town,  and  he  was  now  re- 
garded as  a  renegade  even  among  the  labor 
and  prohibition  parties.  Which  of  them  would 
win?  Well,  we  shall  see!  It  is  less  ridiculous 
to  hold  with  the  one  who  prophesies  evil. 
Just  look  at  the  fellow!  Here  he  comes  I 
Could  any  one  doubt  that  Dr.  Prahl  is  right? 


The  Face  of  the  World  235 

What  are  you  keeping  us  waiting  for?  You 
may  just  as  well  throw  off  your  mask  today; 
we  can  see  through  you,  and  we  shall  be  on 
our  guard.  It  shall  not  be  said,  at  any  rate, 
that  we  have  had  any  fellowship  with  you! 

From  that  time  a  watch  was  kept  on  the 
man.  His  words  and  actions  were  explained 
— ^in  a  manner;  and  he  himself  felt  it  when 
he  went  through  the  town,  felt  it  as  if  he  were 
breathing  in  an  atmosphere  so  sultry  that  he 
had  continually  to  wipe  the  moisture  from  his 
forehead. 

One  day  in  the  beginning  of  August,  Ivar 
came  home  looking  very  important,  and  stand- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  room,  slapped  his 
breast-pocket  and  said  to  his  sister:  "What 
do  you  think  I  have  here,  my  dear?" 
"Have  you  got  your  salary  now?" 
He  nodded,  took  out  his  pocket-book,  and 
waved  some  large  bank-notes  before  her  eyes. 
"What  do  you  think  this  is  for?" 

"You  need  a  suit  of  clothes  perhaps?" 
"Oh,  you  think  so,  do  you?    No,  my  dear; 
you're  going  to  a  sanatorium.    Dr.  Mark  had 


236  The  Face  of  the  World 

word  today  that  there's  room  for  you  now  at 
Reknses,  so  you're  going  tomorrow." 

"Going?  Are  you  still  keeping  on  with 
that  nonsense  that  there's  something  the  mat- 
ter with  me?" 

"You're  going  tomorrow,"  he  repeated  as 
he  put  the  money  back  into  his  pocket. 

"Now,  Ivar,  do  you  really  mean  that  I'm  to 
go  away  and  leave  my  four  children?" 

"I've  got  hold  of  a  trustworthy  woman  to 
come  and  look  after  both  the  children  and 
me." 

The  battle  continued  as  the  day  went  on. 
It  ended  by  her  taking  out  the  children's 
things  and  beginning  to  look  them  over.  The 
little  ones  stood  with  their  fingers  in  their 
mouths,  and  asked  her  what  she  w^as  crying 
for.  Going  away?  Was  she  going  away? 
Oh,  then  they  would  go  tool  The  little  boy 
with  the  golden  curls  stretched  out  his  arms 
and  wanted  to  go  at  once. 

In  the  evening,  when  everything  was  at  last 
quiet,  she  sat  down  beside  the  little  beds  and 
looked   at  the   four  rogues   with   their  eyes 


The  Face  of  the  World  287 

closed.  Tomorrow  another  woman  would  un- 
dress them. 

Afterwards  she  sat  by  the  window  in  the 
sitting-room,  looking  out,  her  pale  face  tinged 
with  red  from  the  flaming  evening  sky  in  the 
west. 

And  Ivar — if  he  did  not  even  believe  her — 
ah,  how  would  things  go  with  him? 

On  the  following  day  the  little  party  went 
down  to  the  quay,  she  herself  carrying  the 
youngest  boy,  and  the  three  other  children 
walking  between  Ivar  and  the  stranger  who 
was  now  to  be  both  sister  and  mother  for  a 
time. 

When  the  steamer  moved  away  from  the 
quay,  the  pale  young  mother  stood  leaning 
upon  the  railing,  trying  to  stifle  her  weeping 
and  coughing  with  her  handkerchief,  and 
the  little  group  that  was  left  standing  on  the 
pier  waved  and  waved,  while  the  little  boy 
I  screamed  because  he  had  not  been  allowed  to 
go  with  his  mother. 

But  Ivar  was  to  experience  a  fresh  emotion 
before  he  went  home.    He  had  let  the  children 


238  The  Face  of  the  World 

and  the  housekeeper  go  on  in  front  while  he 
wandered  a  little  way  along  the  shore,  when 
round  one  of  the  landing-stages  a  woman 
in  a  white  cloak  and  a  brown  veil  came  to- 
wards him.    It  was — it  was  Fru  Harrang! 

She  stopped  suddenly,  and  he  did  the  same 
and  then  quickly  took  off  his  hat.  She  drew 
nearer  with  an  embarrassed  smile,  and  held 
out  her  hand ;  but  the  next  moment  she  looked 
round.    Was  there  any  one  watching  them? 

"I  haven't  had  an  opportunity  of  con- 
gratulating you  on  the  new  appointment 
yet,"  she  said;  "but  I've  been  so  glad  that 
things  are  beginning  to  go  so  well  for  you." 

"Thank  you  very  much!"  He  smiled  and 
put  on  his  hat. 

"And  now  we  all  hope  that  you'll  behave 
sensibly.  You  will,  won't  you?  You  must 
promise  me  you  will." 

"Are  you  going  away,  Fru  Harrang?" 

"Yes,  in  about  a  month,  I  think.  My  hus- 
band's got  a  post  in  Stavanger,  and  it'll  be 
best  for  all  parties.  Good-bye  then,  and  don't 
forget  what  I've  asked  of  you!" 


The  Face  of  the  World  239 

He  was  left  standing  and  looking  after  her. 
She  was  charming,  as  charming  as  ever!  She 
had  blushed  when  she  looked  at  him,  had 
pressed  his  hand  and  smiled  up  at  him.  In 
spite  of  everything! 

But  she  was  going  away! 

That  evening  he  moved  his  bed  into  the 
children's  room,  so  that  they  should  settle 
down  quietly  without  their  mother;  and  he 
lay  listening  to  their  gentle  breathing.  Sup- 
pose their  mother  never  came  back  any  more! 
Then  these  four  would  have  no  one  in  the 
world  but  him. 

But  she  was  going  away! 

"And  you?"  he  said  to  himself.  "Can  you 
bear  all  the  evil  in  this  town  when  it's  no 
longer  for  her  sake?  You  still  love  her.  You 
think  of  her  every  day.  When  you  tie  your 
tie  in  the  morning,  it  is  with  the  thought  of 
possibly  meeting  her.  You  dream  of  being 
allowed  to  carry  a  basket  home  for  her  just 
once  more.  She  is  the  holy  temple  in  your 
mind,  now,  always,  for  ever.  But  she  is  going 
away,  and  then  the  town  will  be  nothing  but 


240  The  Face  of  the  World 

an  icehouse  for  you.  You  cannot  go  after  her. 
But  the  town  will  stone  you.  And  she  is  go- 
ing away,  going  away,  going  away! 

"Go  to  sleep  now,  children!    Mother  is  all 
right." 


XVI 

Sister  Alma  was  in  the  doctor*s  clinic, 
talking  to  him  at  the  writing-table,  when  the 
door  opened  and  a  country-woman  of  about 
fifty,  gray  and  wrinkled,  came  in.  **I  just 
want  to  say  good-bye,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  is  that  you,  Martha?"  said  the  doctor, 
turning  round  in  his  chair.  "Yes,  of  course  I 
You're  discharged  today,  aren't  you  I" 

Martha  had  undergone  a  serious  operation. 
For  years  she  had  suffered  with  a  tumor  in 
the  stomach,  so  large  that  she  could  not 
breathe  when  she  lay  down,  and  had  therefore 
to  sit  up  in  a  chair  when  she  slept;  but  this 
had  now  been  removed,  and  as  it  weighed  with 
its  appurtenances  more  than  sixteen  pounds, 
she  was  now  as  slim  and  hght  as  a  young  girl 
and  her  dress  much  too  loose,  her  skirt-band 
going  almost  twice  round  her  waist. 

"God  bless  youl"  she  said  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  as  she  held  out  her  hand. 

241 


242  The  Face  of  the  World 

"Well,  good-bye,  Martha!  You'll  be  quite 
like  a  bride  again  with  your  husband,  for 
you're  thirty  years  younger  than  when  you 
came.    Good-bye!    And  a  pleasant  journey!" 

When  the  woman  had  gone,  Sister  Alma 
exclaimed:  "Upon  my  word.  Dr.  Mark;  you 
must  feel  happy  yourself  now,  after  having 
performed  such  a  miracle!" 

"Miracle?  Why,  it  was  a  comparatively 
benign  tumor.  Any  one  could  have  done  it 
equally  well." 

"Oh,  yes!    I  think  I  see  them!" 

"And  moreover,  the  thing  that's  successful 
is  not  really  interesting.  What  I'm  always 
thinking  about  is  all  that  I  can't  do." 

"Then  you  can  never  be  quite  happy." 

"No;  but  where  in  the  stars  is  it  written 
that  I  should  be  happy?" 

"What  if  I  invited  you  to  have  a  cup  of 
chocolate  in  my  room?" 

"That's  another  matter,"  he  said,  rising  and 
laughing.  "Just  wait  a  minute  while  I  wash 
my  hands." 

Sister  Alma*s  was  a  comfortable  room,  with 


The  Face  of  the  World  243 

flowers  in  the  windows  and  pictures  on  the 
walls;  and  music  stood  open  on  the  doctor's 
piano.  Harold  bent  down  to  see  what  it 
was.  "Why,  I  really  believe,"  he  said,  "that 
you've  been  tackling  Beethoven — the  ninth 
symphony !" 

Her  face  flushed  and  she  busied  herself  over 
the  spirit-lamp  on  which  the  chocolate  was 
standing. 

"Wasn't  that  the  condition  on  which  I  was 
to  have  your  piano?  You  required  me  to 
practice  the  piano  arrangement  of  the  ninth 
symphony?" 

"Did  I?  I'm  glad  you've  dreamt  about  me. 
But  isn't  it  frightfully  difficult?"  He  sat 
down  on  the  piano-stool  and  played  a  few 
bars. 

"Difficult!  It's  almost  impossible  unless 
you  have  four  hands.  I've  done  scarcely  any- 
thing else  in  my  leisure  moments  for  the  last 
five  or  six  weeks;  and  I  think  it  gets  more 
difficult  every  time." 

"I  heard  it  on  a  large  orchestra  at  the 
Queen's  Hall  in  London.     By  Jove,  sister. 


244  The  Face  of  the  World 

it's  a  comfort  to  us  all  that  the  man  who 
created  that  has  actually  lived!" 

"You  once  played  the  violin,  didn't  you, 
Dr.  Mark?" 

"Yes,  fancy  1  I  didl"  He  looked  out  over 
the  piano  towards  the  window.  "Yes,  and  I 
didn't  play  so  badly  either." 

"Why  did  you  leave  ofiP?" 

"You  may  well  ask.  But,  ycu  see,  there 
must  be  a  certain  rhythm  in  one's  self — well, 
the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  I  don't  play 
now." 

The  chocolate  was  ready.  Sister  Alma,  in 
her  gray  linen  dress,  and  at  her  throat  a  blue 
enamel  brooch  with  the  red  cross  on  it,  was 
very  deft. 

He  wondered  whether  this  woman  was  still 
restless.  Her  good  spirits  made  sunshine  in 
the  wards  wherever  she  went;  she  was  as 
happy  as  a  bird.  Had  she  still  her  dreams? 
Yes,  he  had  heard  her  say  that  she  hoped 
to  have  a  little  cottage  with  a  garden  right  in 
the  country  when  she  grew  old.  It  was  the 
evening-land    to    which    she    now    and    then 


The  Face  of  the  World  245 

turned;  but  she  was  still  young,  and  might 
bewitch  as  many  men  as  she  Hked. 

"The  chocolate's  ready,"  she  said.  "But 
you  must  excuse  the  cakes." 

When  Harold  went  to  his  room  for  his  hat 
and  coat,  before  going  home  to  dinner,  he 
found  Ivar  Holth  sitting  there  waiting  for 
him.  He  rose,  and  the  doctor  was  so  startled 
at  the  expression  of  his  face  that  he  could 
not  help  gazing  at  him. 

"Well,  my  friend,"  he  said,  "what's  the 
matter?" 

"It's  only,  doctor,  that  I  shall  have  to  give 
up  being  steward." 

Harold  offered  him  a  cigar,  but  he  declined 
it.  The  doctor  took  one  himself,  lighted  it 
very  carefully,  blew  out  the  match  and  laid 
it  in  an  ash-tray;  and  not  until  this  was  done 
did  he  look  at  the  other  again.  "What's  all 
this  nonsense  about?"  he  asked. 

"Have  you  seen  what  the  Evening  Paper 
and  the  Socialist  said  last  night?" 

"No." 

"Don't  you  read  the  papers?" 


246  The  Face  of  the  World 

"Oh,  yes,  far  too  many,  but  none  of  those 
that  are  published  here." 

"There's  an  attack  on  you,  because  you 
didn't  advertise  the  post  of  steward.  There 
are  many  who  would  have  applied  for  it,  both 
the  editor  of  the  Evening  Paper  and  the  busi- 
ness-manager of  the  trade  unions,  as  well  as 
one  or  two  teachers  and  a  lawyer.  They  say 
it's  scandalous  that  it  should  have  been  done 
secretly." 

"What  does  it  matter  to  you  if  they  attack 
me?" 

"No,  no  one  can  do  anything  to  you;  they 
all  know  that.  But  it  falls  back  upon  me. 
I'm  sure  there'll  be  an  article  tomorrow  about 
the  man  who's  superseded  the  others — about 
me!  I  can't  stand  any  more,  sir.  Let  them 
have  the  post  and  fight  over  it  I  They've  tor- 
mented me  enough  now.  If  I  only  go  into  a 
shop,  or  show  myself  in  the  street — oh!" 

"What?  Do  you  pay  any  attention  to  other 
people  when  you  go  along  the  street?" 

The  other  raised  his  head  and  stared.  "Pay 
any  attention  to  others?'* 


The  Face  of  the  World  247 

"I  don't.  I  never  have  the  least  idea  whom 
I  meet.  I'm  thinking  about  my  own  affairs. 
You  ought  to  do  that  too." 

The  other  shook  his  head.  He  did  not  un- 
derstand all  this  aloofness. 

"By  the  way,  I've  got  a  Nordland  boat 
down  here,  and  I'm  going  out  on  a  trial  trip 
this  afternoon.  She's  a  six-oared  boat.  You 
must  come  with  me,  but  take  plenty  of  warm 
clothing  with  you,  for  we  shan't  be  back  be- 
fore night.  And  now  come  with  me  down 
town,  and  look  the  rabble  in  the  face;  for 
hang  it  all,  you're  more  capable  than  all  of 
them  put  together.     Come  along!" 

The  little  Nordland  boat  with  her  high 
prow  and  stem,  white  sheer-strakes  and 
tanned  square-sail,  looked  like  a  foreign  bird 
among  the  large  ships.  She  shot  out  across 
the  bay,  the  water  foaming  up  her  bow.  Har- 
old sat  at  the  rudder,  his  sou'wester  down 
over  his  ears,  and  long  sea-boots  up  over  his 
thighs,  and  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth.  It  re- 
minded him  of  his  life  in  Finmark.  How 
often  he  had  sailed  out  like  this  to  a  light- 


248  The  Face  of  the  World 

house  where  a  young  girl  sat  watching  for  him 
at  a  window!  That  was  long  ago.  That  was 
when  he  saw  all  the  world  in  the  light  of  him- 
self. Now  everything  was  reversed,  and  he 
had  become  nurse  to  a  man  whom,  he  thought, 
should  be  able  to  help  himself,  if  once  he  were 
placed  by  a  quick  movement  upon  his  feet. 

Ivar  sat  forward  on  a  thwart,  with  his  soft 
cap  pulled  down  over  his  ears,  and  his  face 
screwed  up  against  the  wind  and  w^ater.  He 
was  from  Askoen,  and  had,  so  to  speak,  grown 
up  in  boats.  But  his  eyes  looked  so  sleepless 
in  his  pale  face,  and  he  smiled  all  the  time 
like  a  man  without  will,  without  peace  of 
mind,  without  confidence  in  himself.  No, 
thought  Harold,  he  could  not  leave  hold  of 
him.  It  was  true  it  had  nothing  to  do  with 
him,  but  he  had  taken  him  on  his  shoulders, 
and  for  very  shame  he  must  try  to  carry  him 
out.  Could  he?  Suppose  he  could  not  even 
manage  as  much  as  that! 

"Loose  the  tack  there!  Look  out!  We're 
going  over!  That's  it!  Make  the  sail  fast! 
You  know  the  knot,  I  see.    Well  done  I" 


The  Face  of  the  World  249 

As  the  sun  went  down,  the  islands  rose 
copper-red  out  of  a  greenish  blue,  choppy  sea, 
the  last  spray-besprinkled  islet  was  left  be- 
hind, and  the  open  sea  unfolded  its  green  sur- 
face, which  looked  as  though  it  were  rolling 
up  into  a  yellow  strip  of  sky  in  the  west. 
Against  this  yellow  strip  could  be  seen  a 
solitary  steamer  with  her  trail  of  smoke. 
Twilight  began  to  fall.  The  sun  had  disap- 
peared. The  boat  went  more  slowly;  they 
were  cutting  through  a  shoal  of  herrings,  and 
the  water  seethed  with  shining  little  tails, 
while  in  the  air  above,  a  flock  of  gulls  were 
screaming  distractedly  over  such  abundance. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  they  landed  on  a 
little  island  where  multitudes  of  eider-ducks 
raised  a  chorus  of  protests  against  the  in- 
vasion of  their  kingdom  by  strangers.  The 
two  men  leaped  on  to  the  beach,  drew  up  the 
boat,  and  began  to  carry  ashore  the  neces- 
saries for  a  meal.  Ivar  brought  the  kettle  full 
of  water,  and  an  armful  of  dry  wood,  and  in 
a  short  time  a  little  fire  was  burning  on  the 
shore  and  they  were  sitting  one  on  each  side 


250  The  Face  of  the  World 

of  it  watching  the  kettle,  which  was  suspended 
over  it.  Far  away  to  the  west  a  beam  of  hght 
shot  up  every  now  and  again  from  the  horizon 
over  the  dark  surface  of  the  water;  and  this 
time  it  was  neither  from  saihng-vessel  nor 
steamer,  but  the  light  from  Simlingen  Light- 
house. 

Men  become  comrades  beside  a  fire  such  as 
this.  They  drown  the  sound  of  the  waves 
breaking  on  the  shore  with  their  talk  and 
laughter.  "Look  out,  you  duffer!  It's  boil- 
ing over!"  "Now  don't  upset  the  cream!" 
"Just  open  that  tin  of  anchovies!"  "What's 
become  of  the  butter?"  "Here's  the  green 
cheese."    "The  bread's  in  the  basket." 

It  was  so  good  for  Ivar  to  be  scolded  a 
little,  to  talk  about  all  sorts  of  things,  and  to 
be  out  in  such  weather  in  this  great  realm  of 
ocean  and  birds  of  the  ocean.  It  distributed 
the  emotion  in  his  mind.  If  one  has  a  sore 
place  in  one's  mind,  one's  thoughts  are  al- 
ways rubbing  against  it,  and  it  hurts,  hurts 
unbearably.  But  now  his  ideas  were  dancing 
about  in  other  regions  of  his  head,  and  he  saw 


The  Face  of  the  World  251 

them  and  smiled,  and  thought  it  was  well  that 
the  sore  place  could  escape  for  a  moment. 
They  ate  their  supper,  resting  on  their  el- 
bows. The  coffee  tasted  delicious.  Then  pipes 
were  lighted.  It  was  quite  dark  now,  but 
from  the  sea  in  the  east  a  golden  line  emerged 
slowly,  growing  wider  until  it  looked  like 
half  a  shining  coin;  and  soon  there  lay  a 
broad  bridge  of  moonlight  across  the  waves. 

They  put  on  their  ulsters  and  lay  down  on 
the  sand,  both  looking  at  this  bridge  from  the 
sky  to  them,  with  the  waves  rising  and  falling 
in  it.  Dry  seaweed  crackled  under  their 
heads.  Now  and  then  a  puff  of  wind  came 
and  drew  a  shower  of  sparks  from  their  pipes. 
It  was  the  end  of  August,  and  far  out  at 
sea  in  the  mild  evening  air. 

Holth  would  have  liked  to  move  nearer  to 
his  companion  hut  a  feeling  of  respect  kept 
him  back.  The  doctor  was  silent,  his  mind 
occupied  with  thoughts  that  he  wanted  to 
keep  to  himself.  If  only  he  could  have  gone 
close  to  him,  thought  Holth,  and  confided 
everything  to  him,  asked  his  advice  and  help 


252  The  Face  of  the  World 

against  the  terrible  thoughts  that  often  fright- 
ened him;  but  one  cannot  talk  to  others  about 
what  is  really  private  and  concerns  one's 
destiny.  They  will  only  laugh.  He  had  met 
her  again  today,  and  she  was  more  beautiful 
than  ever;  but  she  did  not  seem  to  notice  his 
greeting,  and  that  hurt  him  and  gave  him  so 
much  to  ponder  over.  But  if  he  spoke  of  it, 
others  would  laugh.  Nonsense,  they  would 
say.  So  he  must  be  silent  and  shut  it  in,  so 
that  no  one  could  see  that  he  was  thinking 
about  it  continually.  It  is  the  sore  place  that 
has  been  raw  and  bleeding  for  so  long  that  it 
has  mortified,  so  to  speak.  Then  there  was  the 
town,  whose  gaze  forced  an  evil  will  into  him, 
and  wanted  him  to  decamp  with  the  money,  or 
kill  somebody,  or  set  fire  to  something.  He 
would  soon  be  unable  to  do  otherwise  than  let 
them  gain  their  point.  He  must  give  way  in 
order  to  obtain  peace.  But  talk  about  it?  And 
to  one  so  superior  as  Dr.  Mark?  Oh,  no !  Hide 
it,  hide  it  well!  There  might  be  much  to  say 
on  the  subject  of  how  things  would  go  with  him 
when  she  was  gone ;  but  he  must  be  silent.  Who 


The  Face  of  the  World  253 

would  listen  to  it  without  laughing  at  him  ?  He 
must  be  silent  and  think  about  it  and  shut  him- 
self out  from  the  whole  world  so  as  to  think 
deeply  about  all  this.  And  here  he  lay,  far 
out  at  sea,  in  the  company  of  an  able  man,  and 
yet  he  was  quite  alone  in  all  the  world. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about?"  asked  Har- 
old, turning  to  him. 

"I'm  sleepy.    I  almost  think  I  was  asleep." 

Harold  looked  at  his  outstretched  form  with 
his  ulster  buttoned  up  to  his  chin  and  his  eyes 
closed.  The  firelight  flickered  over  his  thin 
face,  showing  nervous  movements  about  his 
mouth.  Oh,  indeed!  Did  he  think  he  could 
make  him  beheve  he  was  asleep? 

"Now  here's  a  young,  capable,  good  fellow," 
thought  Harold,  "but  some  mouse  or  other  has 
set  itself  to  gnaw  at  his  life's  root.  Can  I  help 
him?  Here's  a  human  being  who's  unhappy. 
Am  I  not  a  doctor?  I  could  prescribe  a  treat- 
ment, write  a  prescription,  select  a  knife,  or — 
or  suggest  social  re-molding,  a  better  distri- 
bution of  food  and  dwelling.  Would  that  help 
him?    Or  I  could  preach  a  new  religion,  and 


254.  The  Face  of  the  World 

point  to  a  man  hanging  upon  a  cross,  who  died 
for  him.    Would  that  help  him? 

"He  is  only  a  human  being,  not  an  idea, 
not  a  principle,  not  a  party;  he  is  only  a 
human  being.    Can  I  help? 

"Is  it  worth  while  spending  so  much  of  my 
time  on  this  fellow?  Nurse!  A  bad  word.  I 
can't  let  go  of  him  in  any  case. 

"You've  come  here,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"You  ploughed  through  so  many  books, 
listened  to  so  many  professors,  went  abroad 
and  learned  still  more,  you  wandered  through 
palaces  of  art,  and  lived  in  a  poor  neighbor- 
hood and  felt  yourself  called,  and  believed  in 
systems  and  theories  and  gospels.  You've 
come  through  all  that  now,  and  here  you've 
reached  the  human  being.  Can  you  help  a 
single  being  who  is  unhappy?  You,  who  are 
tormented  by  the  feeling  that  your  conscience 
encircles  the  entire  world,  while  you  are  help- 
less and  can  improve  nothing — you  have  at 
any  rate  a  human  being  beside  you.  Do  you 
believe  in  man?    Do  you  beheve  that  there's 


The  Face  of  the  World  255 

so  much  of  the  divine  in  him  as  to  make  it 
worth  a  battle,  help,  a  sacrifice? 

"Don't  despise  a  single  human  being!  He 
is  made  of  the  same  material  as  mankind  in 
general.  The  infinite  world  is  mirrored  in  the 
small.  You,  who  want  to  take  every  one  with 
you  on  the  way  to  the  great  dawn,  help  that 
man!" 

Harold  lay  staring  into  the  darkness  and 
the  sky,  and  forgot  to  fill  his  pipe. 

But  what  had  happened  to  the  sea?  It  had 
become  a  scene  of  living  lights  and  shadows. 
A  large  cloud  was  still  on  fire  towards  the 
south,  and  kept  a  strip  of  sea  as  bright  as 
copper.  In  the  west,  long  gleams  of  light 
darted  out  of  the  bridge  of  gold  every  time  a 
wave  lifted  its  head  in  the  moonlight.  The 
waves  were  dancing  with  the  night  and  with 
the  moon.  The  sea  was  holding  a  special 
festival  of  light  that  night. 

"Even  if  you  could  help  that  man,"  he 
went  on  to  himself,  "you  would  have  to  change 
the  whole  town  too.  He  is  an  echo  of  the 
couple  of  thousand  souls  in  there,  as  you  are 


256  The  Face  of  the  World 

of  the  world.  Take  him  by  the  hand!  Go 
with  him  towards  those  stupid  lights  beyond 
the  harbor,  towards  the  stupid  provincial 
souls  there,  stand  by  his  side,  support  him! 
Perhaps  it  will  not  be  of  the  slightest  use, 
because  it  is  the  people  all  round  us  who  de- 
termine what  we  are  and  what  we  are  to  do. 

"You  are  independent  of  the  provincial 
town;  but  the  world's  press  determines  your 
mood.  Arouse  his  interests,  widen  his  horizon, 
teach  him  to  put  little  things  in  their  proper 
place — then  perhaps  he'll  be  like  you,  and  will 
that  be  any  better? 

"Help  him?    You? 

"You  don't  even  know  what  he's  lying 
groaning  there  for  now!  Win  his  confidence 
— yes,  but  he'll  hide  the  main  things.  A 
human  soul  is  not  an  easy  instrument  to  play 
upon. 

"Then  will  you  let  go  of  him?  Shall  the 
others  win  the  game?  Shall  he  be  ruined? 
No,  it  must  not,  must  not  happen! 

"Do  you  believe  in  man?" 

The  little  boat  was  rocking  with  its  stern  in 


The  Face  of  the  World  257 

the  water,  the  lighthouse  was  still  sending  out 
its  flashes  over  the  sea,  and  the  two  men  lay 
stretched  one  on  either  side  of  the  fire,  each 
with  his  eyes  closed  over  his  thought-world, 
lulled  by  the  soothing  rhythm  of  the  sea  in  the 
gentle  night. 


XVII 

She  was  a  little  princess  from  Fairyland, 
and  she  lay  in  her  bed  in  the  hospital,  and 
always  had  tears  in  her  eyes,  because  she 
wanted  so  much  to  go  home.  She  was  fifteen, 
and  was  the  daughter  of  a  schoolmaster  in 
one  of  the  fjords;  and  just  as  the  tuberculosis 
in  her  knee  seemed  to  be  disappearing  under 
the  X-ray  treatment,  suspicious  symptoms 
made  their  appearance  in  her  shoulder  and 
back.  Harold,  who  went  with  indifference 
past  so  many  patients,  used  to  stop  and  talk 
to  her;  indeed  he  sometimes  kept  both  the 
assistant  and  the  sister  waiting  while  he  sat 
trying  to  get  the  little  girl  to  laugh. 

"Well,  Marie,  have  you  thought  about  me 
at  all  since  yesterday?    I  mean  it,  you  know!" 

And  the  child  lay  still  and  laughed.  In 
order  to  save  her  shoulder  and  back,  she  was 
suspended  in  a  long  frame  which  rested  on 
the  mattress;  and  she  was  only  allowed  just 

258 


The  Face  of  the  World  259 

to  turn  her  head  and  to  lift  one  arm.  But 
she  laughed.  There  was  a  faint  color  in  the 
delicate  little  face  surrounded  by  fair  hair, 
but  also  suffering,  dreams,  and  intelligence. 
Her  gaze  was  open  and  far-seeing.  She  did 
not  know  that  she  would  have  to  lie  like  that 
for  six  months  if  it  was  to  be  of  any  good; 
and  perhaps  it  would  be  necessary  to  use  the 
knife,  and  then — poor  little  Marie! 

"What  would  you  like  to  have  now,  my 
dear?  Shall  I  buy  you  a  horse,  so  that  you 
can  ride  over  the  mountains  when  you  go 
home?" 

The  child  laughed  again.  She  was  careful 
not  to  move  her  right  arm,  but  her  red  lips 
laughed  and  showed  a  number  of  regular, 
white  teeth. 

"I've  brought  a  book  for  you  today.  Do 
you  know  it?"  And  he  gave  her  Bjornson's 
"Synnove  Solbakken,"  into  which  she  peeped 
eagerly. 

"I  shall  like  reading  it,"  she  said,  laying  it 
down  on  the  counterpane. 

Harold  was  going  to  take  a  fortnight's  holi- 


260  The  Face  of  the  World 

day,  and  was  therefore  particularly  careful 
on  his  rounds  today,  so  that  the  assistant  doc- 
tor should  know  what  to  do.  He  had  ex- 
tracted enough  from  Ivar  Holth  to  know  that 
he  was  greatly  dreading  the  day  of  Fru  Har- 
rang's  departure;  and  he  was  going  to  take 
him  for  a  walking-tour  in  the  mountains,  so 
that  he  should  not  be  on  the  spot  just  then. 

When  he  said  good-bye  to  Sister  Alma  in 
his  clinic,  he  put  a  bank-note  into  her  hand, 
saying:  "Buy  some  nice  cakes  now  and  then 
for  little  Marie,  but  don't  say  they're  from 
me. 

What  was  coming  to  the  doctor!  She  had 
never  seen  him  like  this  before  with  any 
patient.  Was  he  beginning  to  get  some  of 
that  rhythm  into  his  mind,  of  which  he  had 
lately  spoken,  so  that  he  would  perhaps  begin 
to  play  the  violin  again? 

All  the  afternoon  the  place  seemed  so 
empty  without  him.  Not  long  before,  she 
had  been  sitting  up  one  night  with  a  blind 
boy  who  had  cerebritis,  and  just  after  mid- 
night the  door  had  opened  quietly,  and  the 


The  Face  of  the  World  261 

doctor  had  come  in;  and  then  these  two  grown- 
up people  had  sat  there,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  bed,  looking  after  this  child  together. 

Now  he  had  gone  away,  and  she  felt  as  if 
she  must  be  more  vigilant  than  ever,  in  order 
that  nothing  wrong  should  occur  while  he  was 
away. 

She  went  through  the  wards  again,  and  saw 
Marie,  the  little  princess,  lying  with  "Synnove 
Solbakken"  in  her  hand  and  tears  in  her  eyes, 
and  laughing. 

In  a  room  on  the  other  side  of  the  passage 
there  lay  a  queer  fellow,  a  Norwegian- Amer- 
ican, who  had  recently  undergone  an  opera- 
tion for  hernia.  He  was  from  some  place  on 
the  coast,  and  had  been  in  America  for  a 
great  many  years,  but  was  now  going  home 
to  marry  the  love  of  his  youth ;  but  on  his  way 
through  the  town  he  had  fallen  ill,  and  while 
in  the  hospital  this  hard,  dry  man  of  fifty  had 
fallen  in  love  with  Sister  Alma.  It  was  not 
the  first  time  that  this  sort  of  thing  had  hap- 
pened, but  she  was  always  inclined  to  laugh. 
He  was  on  his  way  home  to  marry  an  old 


262  The  Face  of  the  World 

maid  who  had  perhaps  waited  for  him  for 
twenty  years,  and  had  now — fallen  in  love 
with  her!  Every  time  she  went  in  to  him, 
he  whispered  with  emotion:  "I  love  you!" 
How  could  she  do  anything  but  laugh?  And 
yet  what  would  happen  when  he  had  to  leave 
the  hospital  and  go  home? 

Ivar  Holth  had  gone  into  the  town  with 
the  doctor.  On  the  quays  they  stopped,  and 
the  doctor,  pointing  up  to  the  mountain  above 
his  mother's  house,  said:  "Have  you  ever 
been  to  that  little  farm  up  there?  I  always 
think  it's  like  a  picture  hanging  on  a  wall,  and 
it  must  be  pretty  difficult  to  get  up  to,  for  I 
can't  see  so  much  as  a  path  even." 

Ivar  laughed.  "I  climbed  up  there  one  day 
a  couple  of  years  ago,"  he  said,  "but  it  was 
really  dangerous.  They're  a  queer  old  couple 
that  live  up  there,  I  can  tell  you !  They  have 
two  cows  and  some  fowls;  and  they  never  see 
a  human  being  from  year's  end  to  year's  end. 
They  hate  town  people,  and  if  any  go  up, 
the  old  man  sometimes  takes  his  gun  to  them." 

"I  must  go  up  some  day,"  said  Harold. 


The  Face  of  the  World  263 

In  the  afternoon  he  went  for  a  walk  along 
the  shore  with  his  mother.  It  was  a  still,  mild 
autumn  day,  with  patches  of  yellow  showing 
here  and  there  among  the  trees  on  the  slopes, 
and  the  water  as  smooth  as  glass.  He  was 
telling  her  something  he  had  just  read  in  the 
New  York  Herald  about  the  English  india- 
rubber  plantations  in  South  America — in  Bo- 
livia, it  was.  They  made  the  natives  carry 
and  drag  indiarubber  in  quantities  far  beyond 
human  strength,  or,  failing  to  do  so,  they  were 
whipped.  Weary  mothers  might  be  seen  with 
a  child  at  their  breast  and  their  burden  of 
indiarubber  on  their  shoulders ;  they  were  foot- 
sore and  bleeding,  they  went  on  until  they 
dropped,  but  had  to  struggle  up  again  and 
still  drag  themselves  along;  for  if  they 
brought  too  little  indiarubber  they  would  be 
flogged.  "The  shareholders  in  London  get 
two  hundred  per  cent.,"  said  Harold.  "That's 
a  nice  story,  isn't  it,  mother?" 

Fru  Mark  sighed  and  looked  across  the  bay. 
If  only  he  would  give  up  reading  news- 
papers ! 


264  The  Face  of  the  World 

A  little  while  after  she  smiled  and  tried  to 
give  a  brighter  color  to  his  thoughts  by  say- 
ing: "What's  this  I  hear  about  you,  Harold? 
I'm  told  you  danced  nearly  the  whole  evening 
with  one  young  lady  out  at  Consul  Mohn's !" 

"Oh,  is  that  what's  occupying  your 
thoughts?"  he  said,  raising  his  eyebrows. 

"And  since  then  you've  been  for  a  walk 
with  her  two  or  three  times,  and  you've  never 
mentioned  it  to  me." 

"I'd  quite  forgotten  it,  mother.  But  thank 
heaven  we  still  have  little  visits  from  youth, 
only  unfortunately  they're  all  too  short." 

"What  nonsense!  Why,  you're  not  forty 
yet!" 

"Much  obliged!" 

"Would  you  like  me  to  ask  your  little  lady 
friend  to  spend  an  evening  when  you  come 
back?'* 

"Oh,  no,  mother !"  he  answered  with  a  melan- 
choly smile.  "For  between  ourselves  she's 
much  too  stupid,  or  I'm  much  too  wise.  But 
if  only  we  were  grasshoppers  and  could  al- 


The  Face  of  the  World  265 

ways  be  dancing  together,  we  should  suit  one 
another  down  to  the  ground." 

His  mother  looked  out  over  the  water  and 
sighed  again. 

"How  is  your  friend  the  steward  getting 
on  now?"  she  asked. 

"Ivar  Holth?  Oh,  pretty  well.  But  we 
don't  determine  how  things  are  to  go  with 
us;  our  surroundings  decide  that." 

*'Oh,  do  you  think  so!"  she  exclaimed,  stop- 
ping to  look  at  him  as  she  lifted  her  skirt 
to  avoid  the  mud.  "Then  I  think  he  must  be 
all  right  now,  with  you  looking  after  him  as 
you  do." 

They  turned  and  went  back  towards  the 
town.  Harold  glanced  at  his  mother.  How 
simple  a  matter  it  all  was  to  her !  Ivar  Holth 
had  now  been  helped,  he  had  food  and  cloth- 
ing and  social  reinstatement,  and  nothing  was 
wanting  but  old  age  insurance. 

This  was  the  mother  who  had  sent  him  those 
serious  letters  in  his  joyous  youth,  and  been 
his  conscience  whenever  he  had  enjoyed  him- 
self.    He  did  not  then  understand  that  her 


266  The  Face  of  the  World 

seriousness  suited  her  so  uncommonly  well. 
It  gave  her  the  best  conscience  in  the  world. 
She  did  what  she  had  to  do.  The  world,  for 
her,  was  only  what  she  herself  managed  to 
make  bettey/,  the  rest,  humanity  itself,  or 
what  lay  outside  the  town  and  her  pro- 
grams, she  might  just  show  some  interest 
in,  but  it  was  never  of  any  great  consequence, 
and  robbed  her  of  neither  sleep  nor  appetite. 
That  was  the  way  to  live  a  healthy  life!  If 
only  she  could  have  taught  him  that  too! 

The  two  men  went  off  together.  They  left 
the  steamer  at  the  head  of  a  fjord,  and  with 
knapsack  on  back  started  up  the  valley,  as- 
cended a  slope  on  to  a  heath,  and  slept  that 
first  night  in  a  saeter  on  the  moor. 


XVIII 

DuEiNG  the  first  mild  days  of  September 
they  wandered  over  moor  and  heath.  Behind 
them  lay  mountains  with  a  fissure  in  them; 
and  deep  down  at  the  bottom  of  this  there 
was  probably  a  fjord.  As  they  ascended 
higher  and  higher,  the  heavy  sea-air  became 
lighter  and  lighter,  until  now  they  were 
breathing  in  only  a  pale  blue  sky.  Oh,  the 
days  up  there!  So  pure,  so  bathed  in  light 
and  quivering  with  bright  transparency.  The 
ling  on  mountain  and  moorland,  which  had 
been  green  in  the  sunMner,  was  now  rosy  with 
bloom.  An  eagle  hung  high  above  a  shining 
lake,  which  reflected  the  golden  leafage  of  the 
dwarf  trees  surrounding  it.  The  lowing  of 
cattle  could  be  heard,  and  flocks  of  horses 
lifted  their  heads  to  gaze  at  the  two  men. 
The  report  from  the  guns  of  grouse-shooters 
roused  the  echoes,  and  so  still  was  the  air  that 

267 


268  The  Face  of  the  World 

the  smoke  lay  motionless  like  pieces  of  cotton 
wool. 

During  the  first  few  days  Ivar  Holth  was 
in  the  best  of  spirits,  always  ready  to  talk, 
and  interested  in  everything  they  came  across. 
It  did  him  good;  fresh  regions  of  his  thoughts 
were  reawakened,  and  he  left  off  touching  his 
everlasting  wound ;  he  still  felt  it,  but  put  con- 
straint upon  himself,  and  vowed  that  there 
should  be  no  more  of  it.  He  talked  with  the 
doctor  about  distant  lands,  and  was  always 
asking  about  Paris,  about  England,  and  about 
new  discoveries  in  medicine.  He  told  Harold 
a  little  of  what  he  himself  had  read  when  he 
was  head  clerk — Schopenhauer,  Stuart  Mill, 
Pascal.  It  was  such  a  pleasure  to  explore 
these  healthy  regions  of  his  mind ;  he  laughed 
at  almost  nothing;  and  though  he  might  be 
tired,  he  was  always  asking  whether  he  could 
not  carry  something  for  the  doctor.  They 
came  down  into  little  valleys  where  clusters 
of  sseters  stood,  and  where  they  got  milk  and 
something  to  eat,  and  either  went  on  or  slept 
a  night  there  and  went  on  the  next  morning. 


The  Face  of  the  World  269 

Where  were  they  going?  They  did  not 
know.  Ivar  Holth  was  only  going  with  the 
doctor,  and  the  doctor  had  compass  and  map; 
they  would  come  down  somewhere  to  in- 
habited regions,  and  why  should  they  hurry? 

"My  word!  how  hot  it  is  herel"  said  Harold, 
rubbing  his  head  with  his  cap. 

"Yes,  it's  just  like  summer  still!"  said  Ivar, 
mopping  his  face  with  his  handkerchief. 

When  they  were  tired  with  walking,  they 
lay  down  on  the  warm,  red  ling,  with  their 
knapsacks  under  their  heads,  and  gazed  up 
into  the  glorious  blue  symphony  above  them, 
with  its  golden  disc  that  shone  and  burned  so 
exceedingly.  Their  pulses  beat  gaily,  and 
their  chests  rose  easily  at  every  breath  they 
drew.  On  the  bogs  around  they  saw  some 
little  lakes,  all  so  stiU  that  they  seemed  to 
be  lying  there  thinking.  And  here  they  were. 
Was  it  not  splendid  to  be  alive? 

The  only  misfortune  was  that  neither  of 
them  could  enjoy  it  any  longer.  They  saw 
very  little  of  the  country  through  which  they 
were  passing;  it  no  longer  made  any  impres- 


270  The  Face  of  the  World 

sion  upon  them.  Ivar  was  already  wishing  to 
return.  Far  away  in  the  west,  out  by  the  sea, 
she  was  still  going  about  in  the  streets  of  a 
little  town  where  he  had  been  very  unhappy; 
but  he  had  already  begun  to  wish  he  was  back 
again.  He  had  found  out  that  this  walking- 
tour  was  a  trick  of  the  doctor's  to  keep  him 
away  from  home  when  she  went  away,  and 
from  seeing  her  the  last  few  days  she  was 
there.  He  had  been  carried  off  by  his 
benefactor,  who  meant  well ;  but  his  benefactor 
did  not  understand  that  the  farther  he 
dragged  him  away  from  the  town,  the  nearer 
did  it  come  to  him  in  a  way.  She — and  the 
others — and  his  own  bleeding  wound,  only 
became  more  alive  the  farther  he  went  from 
them. 

This  evening  he  meant  to  go  back.  He 
could  not  help  it  if  the  doctor  was  offended, 
but  he  would  go  no  farther  this  evening,  and 
the  next  morning  he  would  set  out  on  his 
way  home. 

"I  believe  that's  Hallingskarv  over  there," 
said  Harold,  stopping  and  looking  through 


The  Face  of  the  World  271 

his  field-glasses.  "There's  newly-fallen  snow 
on  it,  do  you  see?  How  it  sparkles  against 
the  blue  sky!" 

"Yes,  it  must  be  Hallingskarv,"  said  Ivar, 
borrowing  the  glasses  and  trying  to  see. 

But  he  would  turn  back  this  evening. 

Harold,  too,  was  so  astonished  that  this 
glorious  mountain  region  where  he  had  longed 
to  be  did  not  make  any  impression  upon  him 
now.  He  was  free,  the  twelve  hours  of  the 
day  were  his  and  his  alone,  he  was  healthy, 
strong,  and  still  young;  and  here,  under  this 
dome  of  light  which  arched  over  the  earth — 
was  it  not  good  to  be  here  either?  There  was 
something  he  missed,  not  his  patients,  not  his 
mother,  not  his  home,  but  the  newspapers. 
Those  daily  impulses  to  his  mind  that  made 
him  so  wide-awake,  that  gave  him  an  excuse 
for  anger,  indignation,  or  offence — they  were 
not  here.  That  was  a  pity.  He  missed  his 
daily  wrath.  His  thoughts  searched  for  it, 
and  he  felt  it  was  sad,  and  yet  it  always  took 
him  by  surprise,  again  and  again.  Ah!  when 
he  was  a  young  student,  he  used  to  look  at  a 


272  The  Face  of  the  World 

landscape  as  other  people  listen  to  music,  and 
hills  and  sea  and  sky  flowed  through  him  in 
joy  and  gladness.  That  was  long  ago.  Now 
he  was  looking  at  Hallingskarv,  hut  his  real 
consciousness  was  busy  with  the  indiarubber 
plantations  in  Solivia,  and  with  the  new 
Morocco  conflict,  which  would  perhaps  bring 
about  a  world- war;  and  he  saw  the  war,  saw 
the  various  nations  of  the  earth  move  out, 
weapon  in  hand.  And  why?  Because  the 
industrial  magnate  required  still  more  foreign 
soil,  and  therefore  the  nations  were  to  begin 
to  slay  one  another.  There  was  not  one  in 
a  hundred  thousand  who  had  any  concern  in 
it,  but  nevertheless  they  were  to  kill  one 
another.  This,  O  human  mind,  is  thy  present- 
day  divinity! 

"Where  are  we  going  to  sleep  tonight?" 
asked  Ivar. 

*'I  thought  we  could  get  as  far  as  Oset 
Sffiter.  It's  a  boarding-house,  and  there'll 
probably  be  late  papers  there,  so  that  we  can 
see  if  there's  anything  new  happening  in  the 
world." 


The  Face  of  the  World  273 

"My  foot's  beginning  to  be  bad,"  said  Ivar, 
walking  on  sullenly  and  slowly.  "I'm  afraid 
I've  got  it  chafed."  And  he  pulled  his  knap- 
sack higher  up  his  back,  and  looked  cross  and 
tired. 

"Let  me  look  at  your  foot!  We  can  sit 
down  here,  and  you  can  take  off  your  boot 
and  stocking.    I've  got  some  plaster." 

At  Oset  Ivar  wanted  to  go  back. 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  said  the  doctor.  "We'll 
both  turn  our  faces  homewards  when  we've 
taken  in  all  the  air  we  need.  You've  only 
got  to  come  with  me." 

His  will  was  strong.  Ivar  concealed  his 
disappointment,  his  defiance,  his  impatience 
to  return.  He  went  on,  but  saw  nothing  of 
the  regions  they  were  traversing. 

One  evening  they  were  up  on  the  Valdres 
mountains,  and  were  fishing  in  a  lake  whose 
waters  reflected  the  stormy,  yellow  glow  of 
the  clouds,  while  opposite  them  rose  the  moun- 
tain Norkallen  with  its  blue-black  sides  and 
tawny  shoulders.  Ivar  rowed,  and  Harold 
had  an  otter  out;  but  the  fish  would  not  bite. 


274  The  Face  of  the  World 

for  there  was  no  wind.  The  board  of  the 
otter  cut  obliquely  through  the  water  like  a 
little  ship  at  the  end  of  the  line. 

They  were  going  to  sleep  at  a  sseter  that 
night,  where  there  were  two  dairy-maids.  If 
only  Ivar  could  be  made  to  see  that  they  were 
both  young  and  pretty! 

"Is  your  mother  still  living,  Ivar?" 

"No;  mother  died  many  years  ago,"  said 
Ivar,  turning  his  face  away  towards  the  west. 

""Have  you  many  brothers  and  sisters?" 

"No;  only  one  brother  and  Inga.  He's  in 
Alaska,  working  in  a  saw-mill." 

"I  think  we'll  row  back  now,  and  help  the 
girls  milk,"  said  Harold,  beginning  to  haul  in 
his  otter. 

The  two  fair-haired  girls  looked  at  one  an- 
other and  laughed  at  these  town-men  w^ho 
helped  them  to  rake  the  dung  out  of  the  cow- 
shed, and  light  the  fire  on  the  hearth  in  the 
living-room. 

Harold  found  a  concertina  on  the  shelf,  and 
after  supper  the  four  of  them  made  a  regular 
dancing  evening  of  it.     Harold  was  cheerful 


The  Face  of  the  World  275 

for  the  sake  of  his  companion,  and  it  really- 
looked  as  if  Ivar  were  waking  up  and  holding 
the  girls  firmly  round  the  waist  as  though 
he  were  really  enjoying  it.  A  flicker  of  youth 
must  have  shot  up  within  him.  If  only  it 
would  last! 

They  slept  together  in  a  little  room,  on 
a  high  mattress  with  a  coverlet  over  it.  "If 
only  he  would  go  in  to  the  girls!"  thought 
Harold ;  but  Ivar  lay  down,  put  his  hand  over 
his  eyes,  and  pretended  he  was  asleep. 

"You  who  were  to  fill  his  mind  with  fresh- 
air  thoughts  on  this  tour,"  said  Harold  to  him- 
self, "you're  only  taking  him  with  you  and  go- 
ing on  thinking  about  your  own  affairs.  And 
he  hides  his  soul  from  you.  It's  a  case  of 
making  a  diagnosis  when  the  patient  lies  to 
you,  or  of  sympathising  with  a  misfortune, 
comforting  in  sorrow,  when  your  friend  covers 
it  over  with  words  and  smiles. 

"And  we  two  are  wandering  over  the  most 
beautiful  regions  in  the  world,  and  our  minds 
are  closed  to  it  all.  What  will  be  the  end  of 
the  world-conflict?    It  follows  my  steps  over 


276  The  Face  of  the  World 

the  mcx)rs  like  a  dark  mirage,  and  he,  I  sup- 
pose, has  an  even  darker  one;  and  the  sun 
shines  in  vain  upon  us  both. 

"We  and  the  others — all  the  hunted  beings 
of  today — ^we  have  lost  the  power  to  be 
thrilled  by  anything  natural  and  beautiful  in 
the  world.  Close  your  eyes  on  the  moor,  and 
what  do  you  see?  Lay  your  ear  to  the  warm, 
flowering  ling,  and  what  do  you  feel?  Can 
you  be  intoxicated  by  the  joy  of  the  moment? 
The  leaves  that  fall  now  in  September — they 
can.  The  May-fly  can.  The  child  can.  But 
you  cannot! 

"Your  home  is  the  newspaper,  your  normal 
state  of  mind  is  vexation  over  the  evil  in  the 
world,  and  the  day's  work  is  only  for  the  pur- 
pose of  making  the  time  pass. 

"If  one  could  only  kneel  some  day  in  deep 
adoration  of  something!  At  the  back  of  every- 
thing there  must  surely  be  a  fundamental 
soul  to  the  universe,  of  which  you  are  a  ray! 
Shine  then!    But  how? 

"There's  some  one  lying  beside  you,  isn't 
there?    Where  will  you  find  a  little  light  to 


The  Face  of  the  World  277 

fill  him  with,  so  that  he  does  not  fall  into 
some  catastrophe? 

"Are  you  asleep,  Ivar?" 

Ivar's  hand  was  still  covering  his  eyes,  and 
he  seemed  to  he  sound  asleep. 

There  was  an  intolerable  number  of  gnats. 
The  little  humming  imps  approached  with 
their  irritating  song,  and  settled  on  cheek,  or 
forehead,  or  lip. 

Towards  morning  Harold  got  up  quietly, 
redressed,  and  went  out. 

The  morning  air  was  chill.  He  heard  the 
ptarmigan  calling  in  the  thicket,  probably 
gathering  her  brood  together  after  they  had 
been  scattered  the  day  before  by  the  guns. 
His  feet  made  a  dark  path  across  the  frosty 
grass,  a  cow-bell  moved  in  the  long  cowshed, 
there  was  a  sound  of  running  streams  among 
the  hills,  and  the  red  light  of  day  began  to 
tinge  the  east. 

Harold  sat  down  upon  a  stone,  and  sup- 
ported his  chin  upon  his  hands.  It  was  so 
peaceful  and  quiet  out  here  now.  There  was  a 
peculiar  pleasure  in  knowing  that  the  tourists 


278  The  Face  of  the  World 

had  left  the  mountains,  and  that  the  boarding- 
houses  were  closed;  the  mountain  plateau  was 
for  the  solitary  wanderer,  and  for  the  winter 
which  would  soon  cover  it  all  with  snow. 

An  infinite  peace  rested  upon  the  pale,  si- 
lent morning  landscape.  The  noisy  brooks 
would  soon  be  dumb  ice,  but  now  they  bab- 
bled. And  they  were  certain  of  a  spring  when 
they  would  come  to  life  again.  What  are 
you? 

"You  live,"  he  said  to  himself.  "You  are 
alive  now.  You  have  the  will  to  the  infinite, 
but  you  are  incapable  of  transforming  this 
feeling  of  infinity  into  pleasure,  into  worldly 
delights,  into  harmony  with  the  great  festal 
rhythm  of  the  universe.  But  surely  that  was 
what  was  intended?  That  was  what  we  all 
should  do.     Otherwise — what  otherwise? 

"If  you  yourself  cannot,  then  you  must 
take  this  young  man  with  the  soft  mind,  and 
lead  him  there.  He  really  has  a  great  deal 
of  music  in  his  soul — that  much  you  have  no- 
ticed. Do  you  think  it  will  be  of  any  use? 
Is  it  in  your  power  to  re-create  him,  make  him 


Tlie  Face  of  the  World  279 

strong  and  rich  and  great?  If  so — ^well,  if  so, 
there  is  salvation  for  us  all.  We  are  of  the 
same  material.  Every  single  human  being  is 
a  little  mankind  in  himself.  Do  you  believe 
in  it?  Do  you  remember  your  old  dream  of 
the  united  march — towards  what?  We  surely 
have  to  go  somewhere?  There  is  a  red  dawn 
for  which  we  are  making,  and  of  which  all 
religions  are  a  reflection.  Do  you  believe  that 
some  day  mankind  will  arrive  at  the  sacred 
hour  when  they  will  have  time  to  sit  quietly 
down  and  let  the  hymn  of  the  universe  roll 
jubilantly  through  their  thoughts  and  minds? 
Do  you  believe  that?  Otherwise — what  other- 
wise?" 

The  sun  rose.  The  mountains  stood  a  pale 
copper-color  against  the  sky,  the  lakes  re- 
flected rosy  clouds,  the  dew  upon  grassy  slopes 
and  knolls  turned  to  gold  dust.  He  would 
go  in  now  and  make  coffee,  and  take  some  to 
the  girls  before  they  got  up. 

Then  the  two  men  continued  their  wander- 
ings— two  gray  figures  moving  over  mountain 
and  moorland,  in  rain  and  mist  and  wind,  be- 


280  The  Face  of  the  World 

neath  sun  and  stars,  each  accompanied  by  his 
own  mirage,  those  scattered  strips  of  the  world 
that  were  their  life. 

"Hullo!  there's  Jotunheim!"  exclaimed 
Harold,  getting  out  his  field-glasses  again. 
They  gazed  out  over  an  ocean  of  billowing  blue 
and  white  mountains,  towards  a  giant  billow 
in  the  far  north,  which  seemed  to  foam  up 
into  heaven  itself.  "Oh,  yes!"  said  Ivar. 
"That's  Jotunheim  sure  enough!" 

There  were  only  a  few  days  now  before  she 
would  be  going  away,  and  here  was  he,  going 
farther  and  farther  away  from  her.  He  would 
never  see  her  again.  Without  her  the  town 
would  close  over  him  like  an  ice-cellar,  full  of 
evil  influences  with  oblique,  bloodshot  eyes.  It 
made  him  sick  to  think  about  it.  He  felt  he 
could  go  no  farther;  his  feet  refused  to  cany 
him. 

His  excuse  was  pain  in  his  knees,  in  his 
stomach,  in  his  head.  Harold  scolded,  joked 
and  told  amusing  stories. 

"Let's  sit  down  here,"  he  said,  "and  have 
a  pipe.    Do  you  know,  I  was  once  staying  at 


The  Face  of  the  World  281 

Karasjok,  and  that's  where  love-making's  car- 
ried on  in  fur  coats.  Young  people  make  love 
out  of  doors  under  the  rays  of  the  northern 
lights  in  a  temperature  of  fifty  degrees  below 
freezing,  she  in  a  fur  coat,  and  he  in  a  fur 
coat.  They  embrace  in  fur  coats,  kiss  in  fur 
coats,  and  recline  on  the  snow  in  fur  coats. 
Perhaps  it's  snowing,  but  they  don't  notice  it 
and  get  buried  under  the  snow;  and  the  next 
morning  the  fathers  have  to  go  about  with 
long  sticks  to  poke  into  the  snow,  to  find  the 
various  loving  couples.  What  do  you  think 
of  that?" 

"Ha,  ha,  ha  I" 

They  came  one  day  to  a  place  from  which 
they  could  see  down  into  Gudbrandsdal.  It 
was  a  new  district.  There  lay  sunburnt  houses 
with  smoke  ascending  from  their  chimneys. 
They  came  down  to  Lillehammer,  and  went 
over  the  folk-museum  at  Maihaugen,  where 
they  saw  the  old  farms,  the  comfortable  old- 
time  homes  from  up  the  valley. 

"Tomorrow  is  the  day  she's  leaving," 
thought  Ivar;  but  he  kept  it  to  himself,  for 


282  The  Face  of  the  World 


now  he  hated  the  man  who  was  dragging  him 
along  with  him. 

They  were  standing  in  the  old  Gudbrands- 
dal  living-room,  with  its  open  hearth  and 
leaded  window-panes,  and  everything  in  it 
handmade.  Harold  sat  down  on  a  chair  and 
looked  about  him,  absorbed  in  all  that  he  saw, 
drinking  it  in,  hearing,  as  it  were,  the  echo  of 
forgotten  tones,  which  it  was  a  dehght  to  lis- 
ten to  again. 

"I  say,  Ivar,  do  you  know  what  this  is? 
It's  a  real  human  home;  the  people  actually 
lived  in  their  own  home.  In  the  present  day 
we  may  have  our  own  house  and  our  own 
furniture,  but  all  the  same  it's  a  hotel  we  live 
in;  there's  nothing  made  with  our  own  hands, 
nothing  born  out  of  our  own  dreams;  it's  all 
bought  with  money,  and  brought  from  far  and 
near.  But  here!  The  man  himself  or  his 
father  made  it  all  in  peaceful  hours.  Per- 
haps a  little  girl  in  a  red  petticoat  ran  chat- 
tering about  the  room  and  laughed  at  a  shav- 
ing, and  the  man  made  this  childish  chatter 
into  a  story,  and  carved  it  on  a  soup-ladle. 


The  Face  of  the  World  283 

The  grown-up  daughter  wove  variegated  fig- 
ures into  draperies  while  she  dreamed  of  the 
lover  who  would  surely  come  some  day;  and 
the  woven  picture  was  hung  on  the  wall  in  the 
best  room.  And  the  whole  became  a  home  for 
people,  a  shelter  for  the  mind,  a  frame  for  the 
soul.  Their  horizon  extended  probably  no 
farther  than  to  the  confines  of  their  farm, 
about  which  they  were  at  law  with  their  neigh- 
bor; but  here,  as  a  set-off,  there  was  a  per- 
sonality. Dear  me!  how  happy  those  people 
were!  They  didn't  read  the  papers.  They 
didn't  care  a  hang  about  anything  in  the  wide 
world.    They  had  a  home! 

"That's  what  you  must  have,  Ivar.  You 
must  marry  and  get  a  home.  I've  never  had 
one  and  never  shall  have;  but  you're  young 
still,  and  you  must  get  hold  of  a  pretty  girl, 
confound  you!" 

It  was  the  worst  thing  he  could  have  said 
to  his  companion  just  then.  Ivar  smiled  a  bit- 
ter smile.  "I !  A  home !"  was  all  he  said ;  but 
he  thought:  "That  home  will  be  a  dark  one!" 


284  The  Face  of  the  World 

Then  they  started  on  their  homeward  jour- 
ney. 

"It's  too  late  now!"  thought  Ivar.  "I  shall 
never  see  her  again  1" 


XIX 

When  the  west  wind,  accompanied  by  the 
autumn  rains,  rolled  volumes  of  dark  cloud  in 
from  the  sea,  it  tore  across  the  bay  with  such 
impetuosity  that  chain-cables  broke,  boats 
were  driven  ashore,  and  huge  waves  washed 
right  up  to  the  houses.  The  old  landing-stages 
stood  upon  their  piles  in  the  sea  like  fabled 
animals  that  dared  not  venture  out  any  far- 
ther; but  they  creaked  in  the  long  October 
nights,  while  the  hoisting-tackle  shrieked,  and 
tiles  flew  about  the  town  and  people  who  were 
out  late  had  their  umbrellas  turned  inside  out 
and  were  obliged  to  cling  to  the  house-walls 
for  support.  Far  out  in  the  west  could  be 
heard  the  dull  sound  of  the  ocean  itself  as  it 
dashed  itself  once  more  upon  the  rocks  and 
islands  as  if  to  tear  them  away.  "It's  to  be 
hoped  we  shan't  have  bad  news  from  the  sea 
tonight!"  old  people  said  as  they  put  out  their 

lamps  and  crept  into  bed  to  dream  of  ship- 

285 


286  The  Face  of  the  World 

wreck  and  wreckage  drifting  ashore,  and  of 
cries  for  help  from  the  darkness  far  out. 
These  were  familiar  dreams  in  this  town, 
whose  sons  were  always  on  the  sea. 

On  an  evening  such  as  this,  Ivar  Holth  was 
sitting  in  the  little  room  in  which  the  four  chil- 
dren were  sleeping,  the  youngest  girl  with  her 
doll  upon  her  arm.  It  was  not  far  from  mid- 
night, and  he  should  have  been  in  bed  him- 
self; but  he  knew  he  would  not  be  able  to 
sleep.  It  was  best  to  keep  his  eyes  open,  for 
then  he  saw  the  children  in  their  innocent 
sleep ;  and  if  he  shut  them  he  saw  all  the  time 
the  town  where  she  no  longer  was,  the  town 
with  the  distorted  face,  which  jeered  at  him 
because  he  had  to  be  there  without  knowing 
her  to  be  close  by — the  town  with  the  hundreds 
of  eyes  that  only  blinked  at  him  and  wished 
him  ill.  He  had  heard  through  street-boys 
that  he  was  now  called  the  chimpanzee.  Dr. 
Mark's  monkey.  Well,  it  was  strange  that 
that  man  should  have  enticed  him  away  those 
last  few  days  she  was  here.  Suppose  it  were 
an  experiment!    Suppose  he  had  only  wanted 


The  Face  of  the  World  287 

to  read  his  expression  and  observe  his  suffer- 
ings! Suppose  it  were  only  another  experi- 
ment when  he  appointed  him  steward,  an  ex- 
periment on  the  animal,  an  inoculation  of  the 
chimpanzee!  He  could  not  bear  to  think  of 
it,  but  he  ground  his  teeth  and  clenched  his 
fists.  If  it  was  true  he  would — ^he  would  like 
to  go  out  to  the  white  house  and — and  do 
something  dreadful. 

But  today  he  had  had  another  experience. 
Lawyer  Gundahl  had  come  up  to  him  in  the 
street  and  begged  him  to  join  a  choral  society. 
"You  sing  like  a  thrush,  young  man;  I  re- 
member that  from  long  ago.  And  you'll  be 
able  to  put  feeling  into  your  singing,  for 
you're  animated  by  an  ardor  that  the  rest  of 
us  lack,  ha,  ha!" 

"Many  thanks!"  said  Ivar,  and  tried  to  es- 
cape, but  the  other  held  on  to  him. 

"I  envy  you,  young  man.  Yes,  seriously  I 
would  gladly  exchange  with  you.  We  others 
all  have  our  hearts  filled  with  professional 
jealousies,  hatred,  deceit,  and  the  gossip  of  a 
little  town;  but  you — ^you  have  a  sacred  sor- 


288  The  Face  of  the  World 

row,  like  Dante,  or  Petrarch,  or  Byron. 
There's  only  one  thing  I  don't  understand, 
though,  and  that  is  that  you  can  submit  to  his 
beating  her.  He  comes  home  drunk,  and  the 
neighbors  hear  the  blows  and  her  wails;  and 
that  even  now  when  she's  expecting  a  child! 
Well,  well,  she's  gone  now,  but " 

"Good-bye!"  said  Ivar,  tearing  himself 
away. 

He  was  sitting  now  thinking  that  perhaps 
the  lawyer  had  spoken  the  truth.  Now  and 
then  he  shook  his  head.  It  seemed  unlikely, 
and  yet  just  now  he  was  unable  to  believe  any- 
thing except  what  was  evil. 

Beat  her!  And  she  was  gone!  But  the 
captain  was  still  living  in  their  old  house;  he 
was  to  be  there  another  week. 

Did  he  beat  her?  Her!  And  she  was  ex- 
pecting a  baby.  She!  And  with  him!  With 
him! 

But  it  was  not  that,  on  the  whole,  that  hurt 
him  most;  it  was  a  deep,  painful  wonder  as 
to  when  it — ^when  it  took  place. 
•     If  he  had  had  a  friend  so  dear  that  he  could 


The  Face  of  the  World  289 

have  confided  everything  to  him,  everything, 
and  asked  for  counsel  and  help  for  all  the  sor- 
rows in  the  world,  he  could  not  have  gone  to 
him  with  this.  The  very  best  of  friends  would 
have  burst  out  laughing.  "When  it  hap- 
pened? Ha,  ha!  You  must  really  ask  them 
about  that."  It  was  ridiculous,  of  course,  and 
yet  it  hurt  him  so,  and  burnt  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  tenderest  part  of  his  heart.  When 
did  it  happen? 

Perhaps  one  evening  when  he  had  sat  upon 
the  steps  and  felt  the  exquisite  pain  of  know- 
ing that  she  was  undressing  upstairs,  that  she 
had  got  into  bed  and  drawn  the  clothes  over 
her  splendid,  young  body,  that  he  came  up 
and  that  they  were  together.  And  he  himself 
had  sat  below,  the  window  was  darkened  and 
they  two  were  alone  with  one  another  up 
there. 

When  did  it  happen?  It  was  as  if  a  knife 
were  driven  into  him  each  time,  so  that  his 
face  was  distorted  with  pain.  When — ^when 
did  it  happen? 

The  children  slept  on,  sometimes  talking  in 


290  The  Face  of  the  World 

their  sleep.  A  small  lamp  was  burning.  The 
town  was  dark  and  filled  with  the  noises  of  the 
autumn  storm,  and  the  night  was  long. 

What  should  he  do  with  the  children?  For 
this  could  not  go  on.  What  in  the  world 
should  he  do  with  Inga's  little  ones? 

He  felt  that  he  was  drifting  towards  some- 
thing terrible.  The  town  should  have  its  way ; 
he  was  no  longer  able  to  resist.  One  after 
another  the  things  to  which  he  had  clung  gave 
way;  the  doctor  was  the  last.  If  people  took 
him  for  a  chimpanzee,  they  should  have  what 
they  wanted. 

But  the  children! 

Oh,  if  he  could  only  sleep!  What  would 
he  not  give  to  be  a  child  himself!  There  they 
lay  in  their  patched  nightgowns,  dreaming 
perhaps  of  their  mother. 

He  felt  himself  so  strangely  unworthy  to 
sit  beside  them.  He  was  defiled  with  the  mire 
in  which  the  town  had  plunged  him,  last  of  all 
Dr.  Mark.  It  would  never  do  for  him  to  be 
with  these  little  ones  every  day,  to  have  them 
climbing  on  to  his  knee,  putting  their  arms 


The  Face  of  the  World  291 

round  his  neck,  and  calling  him  Uncle.  No, 
no,  it  would  never  do! 

And  it  was  not  easy  to  say  what  might  hap- 
pen now. 

Tomorrow  he  would  send  the  housekeeper 
with  all  four  out  to  Askoen  to  his  old  father, 
who  lived  in  a  little  cottage  there  on  his  pen- 
sion as  parish  clerk.  There  they  would  be  safe 
whatever  happened. 

Perhaps,  then,  it  was  the  last  evening  he 
would  sit  beside  their  beds  where  they  lay 
sleeping  safely  and  happily.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  be  done  about  that. 

The  next  morning  he  dressed  as  usual,  and 
in  the  afternoon  he  went  with  the  children  and 
the  housekeeper  down  to  the  ship  that  was  to 
take  them  out  to  Askoen.  The  storm  had 
abated  somewhat,  and  the  distance  was  not 
great. 

"My  father  has  written  for  them,"  he  said 
to  the  woman;  and  he  handed  her  a  good  sum 
of  money  to  be  given  to  the  old  man.  "Good- 
bye, children!"    And  he  kissed  them  all  four. 


292  The  Face  of  the  World 

and  gave  each  of  them  a  packet  of  good 
things. 

When  they  were  gone  he  set  out  for  the  hos- 
pital, but,  on  arrival  there,  turned  away  with- 
out going  in.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to 
see  the  doctor  again,  and  he  did  not  know 
what  would  happen  if  he  met  him  in  the  street. 
He  wandered  about  among  the  hills  at  the 
back  of  the  town,  looking  at  the  white  horses 
in  the  bay,  and  letting  the  rain  beat  in  his 
face.  When  he  got  home  at  dusk,  there  was 
nothing  to  eat,  and  no  one  in  the  house,  and 
all  the  rooms  were  cold.  All  he  had  had  that 
day  was  coffee  in  the  morning,  but  he  was 
certainly  not  hungry  now  either. 

He  locked  the  door  and  pulled  down  the 
blinds,  and  sitting  on  a  chair  beside  the  stove, 
stared  into  the  darkness.  All  the  vultures 
of  his  thoughts  attacked  the  tenderest  places; 
but  no  good  feeling  succeeded  in  coming  suffi- 
ciently near  to  be  anything  to  cling  to. 

When  did  it  happen? 

Chimpanzee  I 

Steps  outside  became  less  frequent.     He 


The  Face  of  the  World  293 

would  not  take  the  trouble  to  look  at  the 
clock.  Perhaps  it  was  late.  Perhaps  it  was 
midnight  or  past. 

Some  one  opened  the  garden  gate,  and  steps 
approached.  He  recognised  them,  and  invol- 
untarily grasped  the  chair  as  if  to  hold  him- 
self tight.  There  was  a  knock  at  the  door, 
but  he  did  not  move;  then  Dr.  Mark's  voice 
called:  "Are  you  in,  Holth?  Are  you  ill? 
Let  me  in  if  you're  at  home!  You  know  it's 
me,  Holth!  Holth!    Are  you  there?" 

Oh,  that  voice  that  had  once  been  so  dear 
to  him!  That  man  who  had  once  saved  him! 
Chimpanzee!  Had  he  come  to  try  a  new  ex- 
periment? 

Now  he  was  knocking  at  the  window,  but 
Ivar  sat  motionless.  The  doctor  spoke  again. 
"Are  you  there,  Ivar?"  There  was  a  long 
pause,  and  then  the  steps  receded,  and  there 
was  only  the  storm  out  there  in  the  night. 

At  last  Ivar  rose,  went  into  the  kitchen  and 
put  a  box  of  matches  into  his  pocket.  He 
passed  out  into  the  passage,  put  on  his  coat 
and  hat,  and  went  out,  locking  the  door  after 


294  The  Face  of  the  World 

him  and  putting  the  key  in  his  pocket,  and 
then  set  out  aimlessly  for  the  town.  He  had 
forgotten  his  umbrella,  but  that  did  not  mat- 
ter; and  he  had  to  keep  a  continual  hold  on 
his  hat  to  prevent  it  from  flying  away.  The 
sea  roared  in  the  harbor  where  the  ships  were 
tossing  on  the  great  waves.  Most  of  the 
houses  were  dark  as  he  passed  them.  Yes, 
here  was  the  laughing-stock  of  the  town  again, 
and  the  hundreds  of  eyes  had  closed  for  a  mo- 
ment; but  tomorrow  they  would  open  again, 
and  they  would  have  something  to  rejoice  over 
when  their  glance  fell  upon  him  in  the  street 
— perhaps. 

He  did  not  know  how  he  had  come  out  to 
the  white  house.  Was  it  through  a  dim  in- 
stinct to  clutch  at  a  straw?  The  doctor's  win- 
dow might  be  lighted  up,  and  perhaps  he 
ought  to  go  up  and  ask  if  it  were  really  true 
that — Oh,  but  one  doesn't  ask  about  such 
things,  for  it's  only  ridiculous.  Things  like 
that  hurt,  but  one  says  nothing.  One  feels 
lonely  each  time  the  snake-bites  become  swol- 


The  Face  of  the  World  295 

len,  but  one  is  only  betrayed  if  one  is  stupid 
and  complains,  even  to  a  good  friend. 

But  the  white  house  was  dark,  too.  No! 
Upstairs  there  was  a  light  behind  the  dark 
blind.  The  doctor  must  be  reading  in  bed  as 
usual.  But  knock?  Go  up  there?  The  chim- 
panzee indeed! 

The  town  slept.  A  solitary  policeman 
paced  the  quays  in  the  storm,  and  he  saw  a 
dark  figure  hasten  past  with  collar  turned  up 
and  hat  pulled  down  over  his  eyes.  A  doctor 
perhaps,  who  has  been  rung  up,  or  some  one 
going  home  from  a  festive  gathering;  for  who 
else  would  be  out  in  such  a  night? 

The  west  wind  came  in  gusts  across  the  bay, 
and  played  with  the  tiles  on  the  roofs ;  and  up 
in  the  mountains  it  began  to  whirl  round  as  if 
trying  to  find  some  hole  through  which  to 
make  its  escape.  But  every  place  was  closed, 
and  it  divided  and  rose  into  the  air  or  re- 
turned to  the  town,  blowing  all  its  trumpets, 
then  met  a  relative  from  the  sea,  and  joined 
it  in  a  new  dance. 

Carpenter  Wium  was  just  coming  ashore 


296  The  Face  of  the  World 

from  a  toddy-party  with  the  steward  of  the 
North  Star  J  which  was  on  her  way  south  with 
fish-oil.  Outside  the  chemist's — on  whose  first 
floor  Captain  Harrang  lived — ^Wium  stopped 
to  set  his  hat  more  firmly  on  his  head  and  to 
steady  himself  on  his  legs.  "Look  there, 
ladies  and  gentlemen!  It's  shining,  it's  smok- 
ing! It  surely  isn't  a  fire?"  But  when  a 
flame  really  flickered  out,  he  pulled  himself 
up,  threw  out  his  hand  and  made  a  speech. 
"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  this  will  be  a  valua- 
tion business.  It  must  be  insured  in  'Store- 
brand,'  so  I  shall  get  a  job.  Put  it  out?  No 
good  trying.  The  house  was  an  old  one,  I 
know.  Ha !  there's  the  flame !  It  may  become 
serious.  Rome's  burning!  And  the  watch- 
men are  asleep!"  And  suddenly  he  began  to 
run,  shouting:  "Fire!    Fire!" 

Here  and  there  a  window  was  opened  and 
heads  were  put  out.  "Fire!"  they  repeated, 
and  shut  the  window.  People  began  to  run 
down  the  stairs  and  to  telephone  "Fire!  Fire!" 
all  over  the  town. 


XX 

Thebe  was  an  p^""^  dance  of  inflammable 
materials  at  the  chemist's.  The  barrels  of 
spirits  and  ether  caught  fire,  and  gigantic 
flames  rose  into  the  air  accompanied  by  re- 
ports. The  west  wind  was  ready  to  carry  the 
sparks  about,  and  before  the  fire-engines  ar- 
rived, half  the  block  of  buildings  was  in 
flames. 

It  grew  light  in  all  the  narrow  alleys  where 
half -dressed  people  began  to  run  about  in  dis- 
tress, one,  in  her  bewilderment,  carrying  a 
chair,  another  with  a  child  wrapped  up  in  a 
blanket ;  and  all  over  the  town  there  were  cries 
for  wife,  husband,  mother,  or  money.  Up  the 
hill,  where  as  yet  only  volumes  of  smoke  were 
rolling  in,  furniture  was  being  dragged  out 
into  the  street — bedding,  pictures  and  butter- 
tubs,  one  on  the  top  of  the  other ;  but  the  next 
moment  there  was  a  shower  of  burning  frag- 

297 


298  The  Face  of  the  World 

merits,  and  every  one  dropped  what  he  held  in 
his  hand,  and  fled. 

In  a  short  space  of  time  the  entire  town  was 
in  a  tumult,  cries,  shrieks,  words  of  command 
from  the  firemen  and  from  persons  in  author- 
ity, all  intermingled.  Bearers  made  their  way 
through  a  crowd  with  a  stretcher  on  which  lay 
an  old  cripple,  and  a  woman  with  her  new- 
born child  was  dragged  away  on  a  hand-cart 
by  her  two  little  girls.  From  a  gun  and  car- 
tridge-maker's shop,  where  there  were  cases 
of  ammunition  and  dynamite,  a  cannonade  was 
suddenly  heard,  and  sparks  rose  high  into  the 
air,  while  windows  rattled  as  if  there  were  an 
earthquake. 

The  old  landing-stages  stood  trampling  on 
the  waves  which  splashed  up  to  the  doors  of 
the  ground-floor  warehouses;  and  it  was  so 
light  all  over  the  town  that  the  inscription 
"J.  M.  Randers  &  Son— Herrings  &  Fish," 
in  large  black  letters,  could  be  read  on  one  of 
the  walls.  The  wind,  with  its  capricious  gyra- 
tions, had  now  covered  half  the  town  with  a 
sheet  of  flame  and  smoke,  and  was  beginning 


The  Face  of  the  World  299 

to  send  a  shower  of  sparks  over  the  quays 
where  the  North  Star,  with  her  sleeping  crew, 
lay.  As  the  men  awoke  and  stumbled  up  on 
deck,  flames  burst  from  the  barrels  of  fish-oil; 
and  before  the  engines  could  be  started,  and 
the  large  vessel  manoeuvred  out  from  the  quay, 
she  was  alight  in  several  places.  Hoses  were 
turned  on,  captain  and  ofiicers  darted  about 
among  the  men,  shouting,  and  a  commercial 
traveller  jumped  overboard  and  swam  ashore; 
and  before  they  had  gone  very  far,  both  crew 
and  officers  took  to  the  boats,  the  engineer 
forgetting  in  his  confusion  to  stop  the  engine, 
so  that  the  forsaken  ship  moved  on  towards 
the  dark  bank  of  clouds  in  the  west,  a  mass  of 
flame  and  smoke  that  lighted  up  the  white 
crests  of  the  surrounding  billows. 

The  other  ships  in  the  harbor  also  en- 
deavored with  all  speed  to  get  away  from 
the  burning  town  and  the  sparks  that  were 
raining  down  over  half  the  bay,  and  to  keep 
out  of  the  way  of  this  ill-omened  ship,  which 
was  still  plunging  aimlessly  along,  but  might 
perhaps  drift  in  again.    She  was  leaning  more 


300  The  Face  of  the  World 

and  more  over  to  one  side  now,  enveloped  in 
flickering  flames,  and  at  last,  against  the  back- 
ground of  open  sea,  looked  like  a  whirling 
mass  of  fire  and  smoke. 

Harold  would  have  liked  to  go  with  his 
mother  to  her  school,  but  the  hospital  was  the 
more  important.  He  begged  his  mother  to 
leave  the  town  at  once,  and  then  dashed  off. 
As  he  passed  the  wine-merchant's,  his  hair 
was  singed  by  the  flames;  but  sailors  and  the 
riff-raff  of  the  town  were  lying  in  the  street, 
licking  up  the  yellow  streams  of  wine  and 
spirits  that  were  flowing  from  the  burning 
stores.  In  shipowner  Prebensen's  large  white 
house  there  was  such  confusion  that  an  old 
washerwoman  came  running  out  with  a  large 
red  down  quilt,  which  she  meant  at  any  rate 
to  save  from  the  flames. 

Nearer  the  hospital  there  lay  a  large  pe- 
troleum-barge which  had  already  caught  fire, 
and  each  time  a  barrel  burst  there  was  a  dull 
explosion  that  seemed  as  if  it  would  bring 
down  the  mountains.  It  was  lighter  now  than 
in  the  daytime,  but  with  a  strange,  flickering 


The  Face  of  the  World  801 

gtonn-light,  blue  and  red  and  flame-yellow, 
that  made  all  faces  look  like  those  of  maniacs. 

There  were  two  people,  however,  standing- 
up  on  the  hills,  who  had  escaped  thither  in 
good  time.  They  were  Lawyer  Gundahl  and 
his  wife.  He  had  brough^  his  portfolio  of 
documents  with  him;  and  her  gray  cat  lajr 
safely  in  the  covered  basket  which  she  carried 
in  her  hand.  The  rest  was  well  insured,  so 
what  did  it  matter?  And  they  now  stood  in 
the  storm,  looking  down  at  the  burning  town, 
so  occupied  in  gazing  that  they  were  speech- 
less and  perhaps  unaware  that  they  were  hold- 
ing one  another's  hands. 

Fru  Mark  had  not  left  the  town,  however; 
and  there  was  something  of  greater  impor- 
tance to  her  than  her  school.  This  was  a  little 
collection  of  twenty  pictures  for  which  she  had 
found  a  room  in  the  Good  Templar  premises. 
She  had  hoped  that  in  time  it  might  become 
an  art-gallery  for  the  town;  but  now  when  she 
got  there,  the  whole  of  the  long,  yellow- 
painted  building  was  enveloped  in  flames. 
Hardly  knowing  what  she  did,  she  was  going 


302  The  Face  of  the  World 

to  rush  in,  but  strong  arms  held  her  back,  and 
she  turned  away;  and  farther  on  in  the  town 
she  sank  down  on  to  a  doorstep  and  began  to 
weep. 

Far  up  on  the  mountain-side  lay  the  little 
farm  with  its  two  small  buildings  on  a  patch 
of  green,  looking  like  a  picture  hanging  on  a 
wall.  The  two  old  people  had  crept  out  and 
were  standing,  each,  for  safety's  sake,  holding 
a  cow  by  the  collar,  and  gazing  down  into  the 
accursed  town  below  in  the  hollow  that  was 
now  beginning  to  fill  with  flame. 

In  the  stillness  of  night  at  the  hospital, 
little  Marie  lay  in  her  frame,  with  "Synnove 
Solbakken"  under  her  pillow.  She  heard 
noises  in  the  other  wards,  but  she  knew  she 
had  to  keep  quite  still.  Then  doors  began  to 
bang,  and  people  ran  up  and  down  the  pas- 
sages. Two  women  in  the  same  room  as  she 
sat  up  and  took  up  the  cry  of  "Fire !"  One 
of  them  had  recently  given  birth  to  a  child, 
but  she  sprang  out  of  bed.  Little  Marie  was 
infected  by  their  fear,  moved,  and  sat  up.  It 
^ave  her  great  pain  in  her  shoulder  and  back, 


The  Face  of  the  World  303 

but  she  stumbled  out  of  bed,  dragging  with  her 
the  frame  to  which  she  was  bound,  and  then 
fell  on  the  floor,  crying  that  she  wanted  to  go 
home,  and  calling  for  her  mother. 

Windows  were  thrown  open,  and  terrified 
white  forms  leaned  out  as  if  with  the  intention 
of  leaping  down.  The  sisters  ran  about  try-v 
ing  to  keep  order,  but  they  themselves  were 
bewildered.  All  the  patients  had  left  their 
beds,  the  djang,  delirious,  some  recently  oper- 
ated on,  who  should  have  lain  still  because  of 
their  bandages — all  stumbled  about,  fell,  rose 
and  stumbled  on  again,  driven  by  this  weird 
light  from  the  burning  town. 

"Here  comes  the  doctor!"  came  the  cry  at 
last  through  the  corridors.  "Get  into  bed  and 
don't  worry!     The  doctor's  coming!" 

Harold  saw  at  once  that  the  hospital  for  the 
moment  was  not  threatened,  but  the  wind 
might  veer  round  at  any  moment,  and  how 
were  more  than  a  hundred  patients  to  be  res- 
cued in  a  town  where  all  the  houses  would 
soon  lie  in  ashes?  How  was  he  to  get  hold  in 
a  hurry  of  people  to  carry  them  out,  and  what 


304  The  Face  of  the  World 

was  to  be  done  with  them?  He  dashed  to  the 
telephone  and  rang  up  the  police-station. 
There  was  no  answer:  the  station  was  prob- 
ably in  flames.  To  the  fire-station — no  an- 
swer ;  to  the  seamen's  office — no  answer.  Next 
time  there  was  no  answer  from  the  Central 
even;  every  one  must  have  fled,  or  they  were 
paralysed  with  fear,  or  occupied  in  saving 
their  belongings. 

*'Oh,  doctor!" — it  was  Sister  Alma  who 
came  running  in. 

"Where's  the  assistant  physician?" 

"We  haven't  seen  him.'* 

"And  the  porter?" 

"He's  here;  but  the  steward,  Ivar  Holth" — 

She  saw  that  the  doctor  suddenly  turned  as 
white  as  a  sheet,  through  fear  other  than  that 
of  the  fire ;  and  for  a  second  she  stood  motion- 
less, but  then  had  to  take  hold  of  something 
to  support  herself. 

Harold  sent  the  porter  out  to  bring  in  one 
of  the  vessels  that  had  anchored  farther  out  in 
the  bay.    "But  as  quick  as  you  can!" 

The  old  gray-beard  hesitated. 


The  Face  of  the  World  305 

"But,  doctor!    A  little  boat  in  such  a  sea!" 

"Make  haste,  confound  you !"  thundered  the 
doctor,  and  the  porter  hurried  off. 

A  fresh  gust  of  wind  had  brought  a  shower 
of  burning  fragments  down  upon  the  roof. 
The  patients  would  have  to  be  removed  in- 
stantly. Harold  had  only  three  sisters  to  help 
him,  for  every  one  from  the  kitchen  depart- 
ment had  fled.  The  stretchers  were  brought 
in,  and  he  himself  went  from  room  to  room  to 
endeavor  to  calm  their  occupants.  Most  of 
them  were  induced  to  return  to  their  beds,  but 
with  a  few  he  was  compelled  to  use  force. 
"Quiet  now!    Don't  excite  yourselves!" 

Would  the  porter  manage  to  get  a  boat? 
The  patients  would  have  to  be  carried  down 
into  the  garden  in  the  meantime,  despite  their 
thus  having  to  lie  in  the  open  air. 

"Bring  a  stretcher  here,  Sister  Alma!"  And 
with  brief  orders  he  set  the  others  to  work. 

"Is  she  to  be  saved — is  she  to  be  saved,  and 
not  me?"  was  the  cry  from  some  of  the  beds, 
when  the  burning  fragments  could  be  heard 
beating  against  the  windows.     The  confusion 


306  The  Face  of  the  World 

began  again,  Harold  thundered,  and  one  after 
another  the  stretchers  were  borne  down  the 
stairs  and  out  into  the  garden.  The  storm 
raged  out  there,  blankets  were  carried  away 
by  the  wind,  and  the  patients  screamed;  but 
they  had  to  be  deposited  there  and  left  to 
themselves  in  the  meantime.  If  only  a  boat 
would  come  I 

The  yard  had  become  one  huge  bed  in 
which  the  patients  tossed  and  wailed,  when  a 
steam  whistle  was  heard  from  the  beach.  The 
porter  came  to  their  aid,  and  a  couple  of 
sailors  from  the  large  fishing-steamer  that  he 
had  brought,  also  came  to  help.  Harold  was 
giving  his  orders ;  but  the  next  moment  darted 
into  the  house  again,  where  the  flames  were 
beginning  to  burst  forth. 

Day  was  dawning,  a  pale  dawn  coming  up 
from  the  sea;  and  stretchers  carrying  some- 
thing white  beneath  fluttering  coverings,  were 
visible  passing  in  constant  succession  down  to 
the  ship.  T^ow  and  then  one  of  these  out- 
stretched figures  would  raise  his  head  and 
shriek  in  delirium ;  some  got  away  and  tried  to 


The  Face  of  the  World  307 

flee;  while  others  had  been  allowed  to  stagger 
along,  half  dressed  and  barefooted  in  the  mud 
and  the  icy  blast. 

"The  roof's  caught  now!"  said  Harold,  as 
he  and  Sister  Alma  came  down  once  more  with 
a  white  burden  upon  their  stretcher. 

On  board  the  boat  the  captain  and  mate  and 
a  sister  were  busily  engaged  in  arranging  the 
patients  at  the  bottom  of  the  hold,  where  they 
had  spread  tarpaulins  with  blankets  over  them. 

After  the  house  was  enveloped  in  smoke 
and  flame,  Harold  once  more  dashed  in  and 
went  through  all  the  rooms  to  see  if  any  one 
had  chanced  to  be  left.  In  a  room  on  the 
second  floor  he  thought  he  saw  something 
move  under  a  bed,  and  going  to  it  he  got  hold 
of  a  foot,  and  dragged  out  the  pale  Nor- 
wegian-American who  had  some  time  before 
undergone  an  operation  for  hernia. 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  up  to?" 

"Let  me  alone!"  cried  the  man,  struggling 
to  get  free. 

"Nonsense!" 


308  The  Face  of  the  World 

"I  don't  want  to  live  any  longer.  Why 
mayn't  I  die?" 

"Rubbish!"  The  doctor  had  brought  him 
out  to  the  stairs,  but  they  were  blazing.  He 
rushed  to  the  window,  opened  it,  and,  seeing 
that  the  yard  was  full  of  people,  he  shouted: 
"Hullo  there  I    Set  up  the  fire-ladder  here!" 

Some  of  them  ran  round  the  corner  of  the 
house,  others  crying:  "Look!  There's  the 
doctor!    Up  there,  on  the  second  floor!" 

"A  ladder!  Quick!  The  stairs  are  on  fire! 
A  ladder!    A  ladder!" 

Some  one  came  round  the  corner  shouting: 
"The  ladder's  padlocked  to  the  wall!  Where's 
the  key?" 

"Harold!"  cried  some  one  from  below.  It 
was  Fru  Mark  who  had  come  up,  and  was 
standing  wringing  her  hands.  "He'U  be  burnt 
alive!    For  God's  sake,  help  him!    Help  him!" 

"It's  impossible!"  people  cried,  running 
hither  and  thither.    "The  stairs  are  on  fire!" 

"Have  you  got  a  rope  then?"  Harold  called 
down  calmly.  "Make  a  knot  at  one  end  and 
throw  it  up !"    But  at  the  same  moment  he  re- 


The  Face  of  the  World  309 

membered  that  there  was  a  fire-escape  rope 
coiled  up  under  the  bed  in  each  room.  This 
he  managed  to  get  hold  of  and  uncoil  with  one 
hand,  while  with  the  other  he  kept  a  firm  hold 
of  his  captive,  then  tied  the  rope  about  his 
waist,  and  after  lifting  him  on  to  the  window- 
sill,  slowly  lowered  him  to  the  ground. 

"Look!  Look!"  cried  the  people  below. 

The  man  came  saihng  down,  his  white  shirt 
fluttering  round  him,  his  thin,  naked  legs  kick- 
ing wildly,  and  his  arms  waving.  He  shrieked, 
but  he  slowly  reached  the  ground,  where  some 
one  took  charge  of  him. 

The  roof  now  fell  in  with  a  crash.  Harold 
could  feel  the  fire  on  the  back  of  his  neck,  and 
a  puff  of  smoke  blew  into  his  face.  After 
feehng  where  the  ring  of  the  rope  was  fas- 
tened, he  climbed  out  on  to  the  window-ledge, 
took  a  firm  hold  of  the  rope  and  lowered  him- 
self over  the  edge. 

"Look!    There's  the  doctor  1" 

"Harold!  Harold!  Harold!" 

They  saw  him  hanging  up  there  by  his 
hands,  and  feeling  about  with  his  legs  for  the 


810  The  Face  of  the  World 

rope.  He  found  it,  but  it  looked  as  if  it  were 
already  on  fire,  and  he  himself  was  yellow  in 
the  light  of  the  flames;  but  he  gradually  came 
lower  and  lower,  anxiously  watched  by  the 
crowd.  Not  until  then  did  the  fire-engines 
arrive. 

Up  on  the  hills  a  man  was  wandering  about 
in  mackintosh  and  sou'wester,  and  a  stick  in  his 
hand.  It  was  Dr.  Prahl.  His  family  had 
been  brought  to  a  place  of  safety,  and  he  saw 
it  was  useless  to  help  to  save  things,  so  he 
only  gazed  at  the  burning  town,  pale  and  with 
a  strange  look  in  his  eyes,  and  his  whole  body 
in  a  cold  sweat.  He  had  thrown  off  his  custo- 
mary look  of  importance,  for  he  felt  as  though 
he  were  to  blame  for  this,  as  if  he  had  set  fire 
to  the  town  by  his  own  evil  prediction;  and 
he  did  not  cry  in  triumph:  "Was  I  not  right?" 
He  would  like  to  have  fled  from  the  fact  of 
his  being  right.  He  had  never  imagined  it 
could  be  so  terrible  to  be  right. 

The  doctor!  JVIark!  He  must  be  helped! 
He  must  help  him  now  I 

But  just  as  he  got  there,  the  walls  of  the 


The  Face  of  the  World  311 

hospital  fell  in,  and  people  fled  in  all  direc- 
tions; and  on  the  bay,  the  ship  with  the  pa- 
tients and  the  doctor  on  board  was  tossing  on 
the  great  waves. 

When  the  sun  rose  upon  the  hills,  parties 
of  half-dressed  people  were  still  to  be  seen 
struggling  along  in  the  wind  beside  the  bay 
and  up  the  little  valley.  Carts  full  of  bedding 
and  children  upset,  and  here  and  there, 
startled  by  the  flames,  a  horse  would  run  away 
with  the  wreckage  of  a  cart  behind  it,  sweep- 
ing everything  out  of  its  way  as  it  dashed 
along.  Fat  shopkeepers  might  be  seen  per- 
spiring behind  wheelbarrows  where  they  had 
in  all  haste  deposited  a  safe,  and  wealthy, 
pampered  ladies,  with  hair  flying  in  the  wind, 
struggled  along  with  one  child  in  their  arms 
and  another  on  their  back — everywhere  peo- 
ple fleeing,  everywhere  screams  and  lamenta- 
tion, and  over  all  the  great  masses  of  cloud 
rolling  in  from  the  sea,  and  when  above  the 
town  becoming  as  red  as  if  the  very  sky  were 
on  fire. 

Among  the  fugitives  a  name  began  to  be 


312  The  Face  of  the  World 

called — two  names.  The  fire  must  have  been 
the  work  of  an  incendiary!  They  turned  and 
saw  their  houses  swallowed  up  in  the  flames, 
and  again  a  name  was  called.  It  must  be  he! 
And  the  other  who  protected  him?  Ah!  the 
other!  Look!  There  goes  the  school!  Away, 
away! 


XXI 

On  the  mountain  plateau  between  East  and 
West  Norway,  beside  the  line  from  Bergen 
to  Christiania,  there  stand  some  large  hotels 
where  young  people  from  half  the  countries  in 
Europe  gather  for  the  purposes  of  winter 
sports.  One  day  they  all  shut  themselves  up 
in  the  large  hall  because  everything  outside  is 
hidden  by  driving  snow;  the  next  there  is  the 
bluest  of  skies,  and  the  sun  tinges  with  red  the 
white  plateaux  and  mountain-tops  and  the 
great  frozen  lakes.  The  hotels  then  become 
empty,  and  hundreds  of  skiers  disperse  in  aU 
directions  over  the  white  snowfields,  some  ap- 
parently vanishing  into  thin  air,  but  all  re- 
turning towards  evening,  laughing  and  shout- 
ing, with  ruddy  faces.  It  is  as  though  both 
lungs  and  soul  have  breathed  in  that  clear, 
unending  sky. 

In  the  middle  of  November,  Sister  Alma 

alighted  from  the  train  up  there,  and  faced 

313 


314  The  Face  of  tlie  World 

that  immense  winter  scene.  The  huge  masses 
of  snow  had  been  swept  up  round  the  station, 
and  the  air  was  keen  and  cold,  causing  her  in- 
voluntarily to  raise  her  hand  to  her  face.  She 
had  come  from  the  west,  and  it  was  still  early 
morning.  She  knew  that  Fru  Mark  was  stay- 
ing with  her  son  at  a  little  boarding-house  on 
the  hill  a  short  way  off,  where  the  guests  were 
few  and  the  living  simple.  A  boy  from  this 
house  had  met  the  train ;  and  when  he  had  put 
her  trunk  on  his  sledge,  they  both  set  off,  the 
snow  crackling  and  creaking  under  their  feet. 
How  should  she  find  these  two?  How  was 
he,  she  wondered.  She  remembered  him  on 
the  night  of  the  fire  and  the  two  days  and 
nights  on  board  the  ship  before  the  half -de- 
mented patients  were  brought  in  safety  to  the 
neighboring  town.  And  afterwards  in  Ber- 
gen, where  she  had  stayed  with  mother  and 
son  at  a  hotel,  and  he  had  walked  up  and  down 
his  room  all  night.  He  had  grown  gray  and 
thin.  He  would  not  go  out;  he  began  to  be 
afraid  of  seeing  people;  and  the  two  women 
were  at  their  wits'  end. 


The  Face  of  the  World  315 

At  last  his  mother  had  persuaded  him  to 
come  up  here  with  her.  But  since  then  there 
had  been  bitter  attacks  upon  him  in  the  pa- 
pers. The  responsibihty  was  laid  upon  him, 
no  one  being  satisfied  with  the  fact  that  Ivar 
Holth  had  appeared  one  day,  and  of  his  own 
accord  delivered  himself  up  to  the  police,  and 
that  he  had  now  been  sentenced  to  several 
years'  hard  labor. 

In  the  boarding-house  no  one  was  to  be  seen 
except  a  couple  of  maids;  but  a  message  was 
brought  to  the  effect  that  Sister  Alma  could 
go  up  to  Fru  Mark. 

When  she  entered  the  little  room,  Fru  Mark 
was  sitting  at  the  dressing-table  combing  her 
snow-white  hair  which  flowed  over  her  shoul- 
ders. Being  November,  it  was  dark  until  far 
on  into  the  day,  and  a  candle  was  burning 
on  each  side  of  the  white-framed  looking- 
glass. 

"Why,  my  dear,  I  thought  you  weren't 
coming  until  tomorrow  I"  said  Fru  Mark,  ex- 
tending her  hand. 

Sister  Alma  would  have  liked  to  fall  on  her 


316  The  Face  of  the  World 

friend's  neck,  but  at  the  moment  she  lacked 
courage.  There  was  always  something  about 
this  woman  that  seemed  to  say:  "You  may  ap- 
proach me,  but  not  too  near." 

"How  are  you  getting  on  here?" 

"Oh,  fairly  well,  thank  you." 

"Is  he  sleeping  any  better?" 

"It's  want  of  sleep  that  is  the  difficulty." 

"But  I  suppose  he  doesn't  always  keep  his 
bed?" 

"In  the  daytime  he  generally  lies  on  it 
dressed.  Unfortunately  he  doesn't  seem  well 
when  he's  up."    And  the  older  woman  sighed. 

"Shall  I  do  your  hair  for  you?" 

"Yes,  if  you  will." 

While  Sister  Alma  stood  behind  the  other's 
chair  and  wound  the  silvery  plaits  in  a  coil 
low  down  at  the  back  of  her  head,  she  hap- 
pened to  say:  "What's  become  of  that  beauti- 
ful silver  comb  that  you  used  to  wear  in  your 
hair?" 

Fru  Mark  smiled  a  melancholy  smile  into 
the  mirror.  "Do  you  think  I  had  any  thought 
for  such  things  that  night?" 


The  Face  of  the  World  317 

"I  remember  you  used  to  wear  it  every  day. 
People  said  it  was — it  was  all  that  was  left 
of  the  rich  lady  of  the  manor." 

Fru  Mark  smiled  again.  "Well,  anyway,  I 
don't  know  what  there  can  be  left  of  her  now." 

"Oh,  when  you  have  a  son  like  the  doctor?** 

"Yes,  and  have  brought  him  up  as  I  have 
done."  Fru  Mark  grew  serious,  and  seemed 
unwilling  to  look  at  herself  in  the  glass. 

"Brought  him  up?  What  do  you  mean  by 
that?" 

After  a  short  pause  the  other  answered: 
"I've  sat  here  alone  with  my  knitting,  and  had 
plenty  of  time  to  think  things  over.  Harold 
was  so  happy  and  merry  when  he  was  young; 
and  I — I  have  been  quite  without  understand- 
ing of  such  things  for  many,  many  years.  I 
wrote  him  letters  and  admonitions  about 
wrong  and  unhappiness  and  mercy  and  all 
that.  I  fancy  it  must  have  set  its  stamp  upon 
his  life;  but  there  has  been  no  joy  either  for 
himself  or  for  others. 

"And  I  myself,  Aknal  I  got  so  many 
things  started  there  for  the  improvement  oi 


318  The  Face  of  the  World 

the  people,  both  the  school,  and  a  little  art, 
and  the  theatre,  and  the  technical  college;  but 
I  sit  here  wondering  whether  people  were 
really  any  the  better  for  it. 

"Now  I  wish  I  could  begin  the  bringing- 
up  of  my  son  over  again  from  the  beginning; 
but  it's  a  little  late  in  the  day!'* 

"Don't  you  think  you  look  rather  too  much 
at  the  dark  side  of  things?  I'm  certain  the 
doctor  is  of  another  opinion." 

"The  doctor!  Yes!"  Fru  Mark  rose. 
"You  know  the  doctor.  He  is  never  serious. 
He  keeps  you  at  a  distance  ^ath  a  kind  of 
gaiety.  We  have  become  such  strangers  to 
one  another  as  that!" 

Later  that  morning  Fru  Mark  went  into 
her  son's  room  alone,  and  a  peculiar  instinct 
prevented  her  from  telling  him  that  Sister 
Alma  had  come.  She  wanted  to  try  once 
more  whether,  after  all,  she  was  not  the  only 
person  who  could  help  him  to  pull  himself 
together  again. 

Harold  had  been  up  and  had  dressed,  and 
was  now  lying  as  usual  in  his  shirt-sleeves  on 


The  Face  of  the  World  319 

the  bed,  reading  a  book  which  he  held  in  one 
hand,  while  with  the  other  he  incessantly 
stroked  his  grayish  beard. 

"Is  that  you,  mother?  Good  morning  I" 
He  held  out  his  hand^ 

"How  are  you  today,  Harold?" 

"Splendid!  I  go  on  improving.  Last  night 
I  slept  like  a  log." 

Fru  Mark  could  see  by  his  red  eyelids  that 
this  was  not  true. 

"But  for  that  matter  I'm  not  at  all  ill, 
mother.  It's  only  this  laziness.  I  soon  shan't 
have  the  energy  to  dress  and  undress  myself. 
I  wonder  if  there  aren't  machines  that  do  that 
for  you." 

"Now,  Harold,  what  do  you  think  of  getting 
up  and  going  out  today?  You  who  were  once 
a  prize-winner  in  ski-races " 

"Well,  mother,  shall  we  two  go  ski-ing  to- 
gether?" 

"Oh,  nonsense!  You  know  quite  well  we 
didn't  learn  such  things  when  I  was  young!" 

"There  you  axel"  he  said  playfully.     "It's 


320  The  Face  of  the  World 

just  as  I  say — ^no  one'U  go  with  me;  so  I  may- 
just  as  well  stay  in  my  comfortable  bed." 

Fru  jMark  sighed,  sat  down  and  looked  at 
him.  He  had  glanced  at  his  book  again,  but 
now  turned  his  head  and  smiled  at  her. 

"Is  it  really  true,  Harold,  that — that  it  isn't 
possible  for  me — ^to  help  you  to  find  pleasure 
again  in  living?"  Her  voice  sounded  like  a 
sob. 

"Living?  Why,  I'm  living  splendidly, 
mother!" 

"I  mean  ...  I  mean  that  you  may  be 
really  happy  again." 

"Oh,  happy!  We-eU— ^that's  another  mat- 
ter. It  may  be  my  own  fault."  He  sighed 
faintly,  and  laying  aside  his  book,  put  his 
hands  under  his  head  and  looked  up  at  the 
ceiling.  "In  that  case  you'd  have  to  make  the 
world  into  something  different  from  what  it  is 
now,  mother,  or  teach  me  to  be  something  for 
myself,  and  that's  what  you're  well  on  the  way 
to  do.  I  get  brighter  every  day.  I  was  hum- 
ming a  tune  just  now  as  I  lay  here." 

Fru  Mark  sighed  and  looked  out  of  the 


The  Face  of  the  World  321 

window.  "I  do  wonder  why  you  never  will 
speak  seriously  to  me." 

He  laughed  and  lay  for  a  little  while  pull- 
ing his  moustache.  Then  he  said:  "Don't  you 
understand  that  it'll  take  some  time  for  me  to 
find  out  what  road  I  shall  now  have  to  take? 
It's  by  no  means  easy.  We've  got  to  make 
the  best  we  can  of  the  world,  such  as  it  is, 
either  with  wine  and  women,  or — or  with  a 
belief — ^hm ! — or  with  a  rope,  or  by  putting  all 
one's  dreams  on  the  other  side  of  the  Styx,  but 
for  that,  unfortunately,  I'm  not  strong  enough 
in  geography.  Well,  well.  .  .  .  Have  you  re- 
membered to  send  that  money  to  Ivar  Holth's 
sister?" 

"I  sent  it  yesterday,"  said  his  mother,  rising. 

"Mother!"  said  Harold,  holding  out  his 
hand  again.  "Today  you're  to  go  out  for  a 
drive.  I've  ordered  a  sledge.  You  can  put 
my  fur  coat  on  the  top  of  yours.  Don't  say 
no  I    It'U  do  you  so  much  good." 


XXII 

These  were  now  two  women  whose  only 
thoughts  were  to  do  Harold  Mark  good. 

Sister  Alma  was  not  often  in  his  room,  but 
he  heard  her  step  about  the  house,  and  it  was 
a  pleasantly  quiet  step;  and  there  was  a  har- 
moniousness  about  her  manner  that  made  it 
soothing  to  know  that  she  was  near. 

There  was  a  piano  in  the  dining-room,  which 
was  next  to  Harold's  room,  and  up  to  the 
present  it  had  been  torture  to  him  whenever 
any  one  sat  do^n  to  play  there.  Now  it  was 
different.  In  the  long,  moonlight  evenings 
Sister  Alma  sat  there  and  let  forth  golden 
streams  of  sound  that  were  for  him,  and  him 
only. 

He  did  not  know  that  every  time  she  seated 
herself  at  the  piano,  there  was  something  defi- 
nite she  wanted  to  try;  but  she  never  had  the 
courage,  although  she  had  practiced  it  every 
day  of  late. 

322 


The  Face  of  the  World  323 

His  mother  began  to  look  cheerful  when  she 
came  into  his  room,  and  she  had  so  many- 
amusing  stories  to  tell.  It  was  as  though  she 
exerted  herself  to  show  him  little  glimpses  of 
a  world  that  was  so  much  brighter  than  the 
one  into  which  he  lay  gazing.  It  moved  him, 
almost  to  tears.  He  really  felt  he  would  like 
to  get  up  and  help  her,  so  that  she  should  not 
strive  in  vain. 

One  evening  at  about  six  he  was  lying  as 
usual  on  his  bed,  with  his  hands  under  his 
head.  The  lamp  had  not  been  lighted,  but  the 
moon  shone  through  the  frost-covered  win- 
dow-panes onto  the  floor.  The  stove  was 
burning,  and  in  the  next  room  he  heard  Sister 
^Alma  seat  herself  at  the  piano,  and  after  a 
few  preliminary  chords,  begin  to  play. 

Harold  closed  his  eyes.  This  music  brought 
scenes  before  his  mind's  eye.  He  had  had  so 
much  time  to  lie  and  look  into  himself  and 
act  plays  in  his  head.  Now  the  walls  glided 
away,  and  he  once  more  began  to  wander 
about  in  a  strange  throng. 

There  came  Dr.  Prahl  and  all  the  wise  ones. 


324  The  Face  of  the  World 

Dreamer,  he  says.  Reality  has  no  room  for 
dreamers.  Belief  in  mankind — ^well,  see  if 
that  is  not  a  crime!    Just  see  how  it  worked  1 

Harold  saw  the  burning  town,  and  began  to 
tremble.    Sister  Alma  played  on. 

That  is  right.  Dreams  are  a  crime.  Reali- 
ties are  money,  robbery,  police,  prisons^^and 
war.  The  rest  is  nonsense.  You  who  try  to 
take  a  share  in  everything  that  happens,  you 
with  the  wounded,  bleeding  world' s-conscience, 
you  stretch  yourself  upon  the  cross  and  suffer 
and  bleed  Hke  a  fool.  You  help  no  one.  Real- 
ity continues  its  course. 

With  that  world-picture  you  are  to  get  up 
now  and  begin  to  live. 

Faith  I  Very  well.  The  only  thing  that  can 
save  me  is  faith.  Faith  in  what?  In  an  in- 
visible ruler,  who  in  his  wisdom  lets  the  world 
go  as  it  goes? 

In  progress?  In  mankind?  What  am  I  to 
believe  in? 

Thank  you !  Now  she  has  stopped  in  there. 
Not  even  she  and  her  music  can  tell  me  what 
I  am  really  to  believe. 


The  Face  of  the  World  325 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then 
she  began  again.  What?  Surely  he  knew 
that!  It  was — yes,  it  was  Beethoven,  and  the 
piano  arrangement  of  the  Ninth  Symphony. 
Would  she  get  through  it? 

Cautiously  and  hesitatingly  her  hands 
seemed  to  touch  the  sacred  thing;  but  she  went 
on,  and  began,  a  little  fearfully,  but  always 
gaining  in  freedom,  to  unfold  that  universal 
hymn,  which  brings  together  all  the  races  of 
mankind  to  rejoice  in  life. 

Harold  lay  pulling  his  moustache  and  smil- 
ing ironically.  But  he  was  so  curiously  anx- 
ious to  see  whether  she  could  manage  it.  He 
knew  that  her  heart  was  beating  with  fear  that 
she  might  be  playing  in  vain  now,  too.  It  was 
as  though  she  came  towards  him  in  white  sacer- 
dotal robes,  and  held  out  to  him  a  bowl  of 
sacred  fire. 

Would  she  stumble?  He  closed  his  eyes. 
He  wanted  to  stretch  out  his  hands  and  help 
her. 

Ah,  that  man  has  lived!  He  who  created 
that  music  has  walked  this  earth — ^like  you! 


326  The  Face  of  the  World 

Have  you  included  him  in  your  world-picture? 
Is  it  no  comfort  to  you  that  he  has  lived? 

And  the  others — are  there  not  more? 

You  see  only  the  millions  of  Judas-souls 
with  steel,  and  hlood,  and  money,  and  betrayal 
■ — those  that  prophesy  evil  and  are  always 
right.    But  are  there  not  others  besides  them? 

Do  you  see  that  monk  from  the  plains  of 
Iran,  sitting  under  a  tree  and  dreaming  the 
dream  of  mankind?  Has  he  lived  in  vain? 
And  the  others? 

A  slave  rises  in  Rome  with  a  star  on  his 
brow ;  one  of  his  disciples  becomes  emperor  of 
the  world.  In  Judaea  the  son  of  a  carpenter 
stands  with  some  fishermen  round  him,  and 
takes  water  out  of  a  well.  Over  the  Italy  of 
the  Renaissance  rises  a  figure  with  a  chisel  in 
his  hand;  in  England  a  poet  builds  himself  a 
world- throne ;  and  in  France  there  stands  an 
old  man  with  toothless  mouth,  holding  aloft  a 
torch  whose  light  flashes  down  through  all 
ages.  Is  it  no  consolation  to  you  that  these 
men  have  lived? 

They  were  dreamers  like  you.     Yoii  are 


The  Face  of  the  World  327 

nothing,  but  you  may  surely  bow  down  to 
them.  They  carried  a  world-picture  in  their 
breast,  of  which  they  wanted  to  know  the 
meaning — like  you.  They  were  powerless 
against  an  armor-plated  world — like  you. 
They  suffered  on  a  world-cross — like  you. 

They  were  dreamers,  and  yet  they  are  the 
torch-bearers  in  the  procession  of  mankind; 
and  it  is  owing  to  them  that  there  is  not  night 
over  the  earth. 

Perhaps  a  dreamers'  day  may  come,  when 
judgment  will  be  pronounced  upon  all  the 
wise  men  who  always  prophesied  evil  and  were 
always  right. 

Do  you  see  a  workman  coming  with  a  plank 
on  his  shoulder  and  a  spade  in  his  hand  to  the 
scene  of  a  recent  fire?  What  is  he  doing? 
He  is  not  thinking,  is  not  suffering;  he  is  only 
beginning  to  work,  to  clear  up,  to  build  up 
again.  Do  you  know  who  this  workman  is? 
Suppose  he  were  a  brother  of  that  divine 
wizard  who  had  to  use  an  ear-trumpet  to  hear 
whether  the  piano  was  in  tune  with  the  world- 
harmonies  with  which  his  soul  was  filled — ^he 


328  The  Face  of  the  World 

who,  for  all  his  poverty,  could  afford  to  fling 
the  Ninth  Symphony  out  over  the  world. 

Is  there  no  consolation  for  you  in  all  this? 

Harold  lay  still,  his  eyes  closed  and  his 
hands  clasped  beneath  his  head,  his  breathing 
slow  and  deep,  while  great  billows  of  gladness 
rolled  over  him  under  Sister  Alma's  gentle 
hands;  and  at  last  he  turned  and  hid  his  face 
in  the  pillow,  his  shoulders  heaving  with  his 
sobs. 


THE  END 


DATE  DUE 


NTtDlNO.S.*- 


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